


Life on a Wire

by Ryukin



Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, M/M, Running, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-06-29 22:57:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15739017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryukin/pseuds/Ryukin
Summary: The whole world has gone to shit now that superpowers are known. Evading capture, Sylar and Mohinder find that out first hand.And hand, after hand, after hand.Living under the wire isn't easy, when death is on one side and heartbreak on the other.How long will the wire hold?





	1. Chapter 1

It would have been nice to know that to save the world, they should have killed the damn cheerleader. 

 

But hindsight, you know. 

 

Damn girl wanted to start a revolution. Well, she did. A revolving door of politicians, scientists, religious leaders and quacks condemning and alienating people that just happened to have a certain genetic abnormality. 

 

The condemning happened for days after the girl jumped into viral news. The killing started soon after, then the detaining. ‘For your own protection,’ they said, ‘turn yourself over to authorities,’ they said, ‘come quietly.’ 

 

Because if you got loud, ooh buddy, they brought the noise. 

 

It was crude, at first. A mini arsenal of gadgets and doodads to knock powers into submission - fire hoses for the flamethrowers, airhorns for the ears, fucking nets for fliers. It was a game of hit ‘em till something sticks. Incapacitate. Incarcerate. Eradicate. 

 

No one was safe. They had enough evolution scientists in the States and beyond with enough data, enough lists, to have a good portion of the evolved population already on a short leash. 

 

When their existence became known, they were an assumed threat. No ‘innocent till.’ No trial of peers. No proof of wrongdoing required, do not collect two hundred dollars, go straight to jail. 

 

It didn't even matter if you worked alongside the powers that be. Government agents, state and local police, fringe agencies all found the evolved in their ranks and flayed them for the world to see. See this monster, living beside us. See us beat down, demean, dehumanize this traitor to Homo Sapiens. See us, superior only in our cruelty. This was one of ours. 

 

Imagine what we'll do to one of  _ yours.  _

 

Ex-agents fared no better. They had even known. They had no leg to stand on, we didn't know he was one of  _ them _ , didn't know he was a  _ freak  _ of nature. They knew. They had used him. But a useless thing has no reason to be walking around, minding its own business, buying coffee like a normal damn person. 

 

A useless  _ freak _ was to be put down, but it's hard to put down the immortal. So instead they captured. 

 

As Sylar paid for his morning joe, he knew he was being surrounded. Even without the hearing, the sound of that many SWAT boots padding through the cafe was obvious. The soft  _ click _ of safeties being released, like an echo but only the almost synchronicity of many men with weapons raised. 

 

Shoot to kill or shoot to stun, that was the question. 

 

He had one long drink of hot black coffee while contemplating the ethics of protecting himself. As a hero, was he supposed to protect himself at the risk of his attackers? Protect others at the same risk? What about collateral damage, the cafe, the street, his cup of three dollar coffee? Should he pull a Spidey and just web the shit outta them and leave them trussed up for the police with a note? 

 

He caught a glance of one out the side of his eye - fuck, they were the police. 

 

Anyway, he couldn't web the shit outta anything. Damn, he wished Mohinder was there. 

 

He signed and looked down at his paper cup, figured he drank seventy five cents worth. He hated wasting money. 

 

The officer at his side started creeping closer. Five seconds away. Four. Right there. 

 

Sylar flung his lidless coffee at the officer and was spinning around before his yelp had hit his mouth. It was a yelp of surprise, okay? He didn't burn the damn guy, he  _ had _ temp tested it with his own tongue. 

 

Two officers, pistols raised, were two paces away behind him when Sylar pivoted on a steady leg and kicked, one, two, guns down, gentlemen. 

 

The guns had wires attached, the grips odd and clunky. 

 

Tasers, great. He really did hate healing bullet holes. Exit wounds were a mess and he just picked his coat up from the dry cleaners. 

 

One agent on the right, one agent on the left, coming in hot. Not as hot as coffee-to-the-balls, who was still dancing around tugging at the crotch of his pants. 

 

Sylar kept his foot swinging, taking lefty out with blunt force to the ribs as he raised his hand to stop righty with telekinesis. One down, one frozen in place. 

 

One standing guard at the door reaching for a second gun at his belt, a real one, snatched from his hand and spinning through the air to hit Sylar's waiting palm as he finished his roundhouse and landed with loose knees, primed to fight or primed for flight. He grinned and spun the gun around his finger. Not today, exit wounds. 

 

The door guard looked weak. Were forces stretched so thin they were sending rookies out for snatch and grabs of humanity's most powerful? Whatever happened to working your way up the ladder? 

 

Sylar thumbed the safety on and tucked the gun down the front of his jeans. He grinned and took a step closer to the boy at the door. “Boo.”

 

He blanched and his eyes darted over Sylar's shoulder. Sylar cocked his head, curious, and fell like a bag of cement when metal crashed down on his head. 

 

His second to last thought was ‘ow.’ His last thought was ‘fuck’ and the man he hadn't heard behind him placed a heavy booted foot on his shoulder until blackness spread across his vision. 

 

***

 

He smelled plastic and too many bodies in a once sterile room. And his nose itched, burned really, all the way back to his throat and he gagged and woke up with a start. 

 

He couldn't move. Fuck, he couldn't move. 

 

He saw people lined up across from him in varying states of wake. Some sat in chairs, some slumped, one drooled, snorted and shuffled to a better head-down lean to continue the sleep of the drugged and uncomfortable. 

 

Everyone had shit up their nose. Some sort of insertion, white plastic plugs in both nostrils. Sylar wiggled his nose to confirm, yep, up his nose too. From the feel of, the were tubes attached, running the course of his nasal cavities until the thought and feel made him queasy. 

 

He breathed through his mouth and tried to avoid thinking about it. 

 

He wondered why he wasn't in an uncomfortable chair like the schmucks across the room. He was upright, but not standing. Peripheral vision didn't give him much - shoulders, no coat but still covered in the crisp black shirt he has picked out special that morning. The one that pulled across his chest like he was built, a nice illusion for a guy who was really just shoulders. 

 

Sweeping his eyes up, he saw straps on either side of his head and thought of a child whisked from the pool when he was a child. The kid had landed on the driving board instead of jumping from it, the crack of body and bones bringing family fun pool time to a halt until the lifeguards had him in an ambulance, immobilized on a board. 

 

He was strapped to a damn spinal board. Which meant he was either gravely injured or their own personal Hannibal Lecter, propped against the wall in the world's worst waiting room. 

 

He didn't feel his body healing, so he was leaning toward the latter. Actually, he didn't feel much of anything. He couldn't hear much of anything. 

 

Just the soft ragged breaths of a room full of people with shit up their noses. No heartbeats. No traffic outside. No birdsong, no sirens, no city hubbub.

 

He did a quick inventory of powers and shot blanks each one he tried. 

 

He felt panic bubble in his chest for the first time. 

 

“Hey. Hey!” he called out.

 

He heard boots squeaking across the floor. Normal squeaking. It was just a really clean floor or something. 

 

A man in fatigues stopped in front of him. He was blonde and very tall, thick arms like he lifted heavy shit to look impressive. “Welcome back, princess,” he sneered. Sylar didn't miss the way his eyes flashed down to lips, to chest, back up with steel behind his irises. 

 

“Where am I?” His voice was raw. Unless he had been sleep screaming, the tubes up his nose were dripping something down his sinuses. 

 

The sneer turned leer and the man cocked a hip, hand resting on the butt of the semiautomatic on his shoulder. “You've been taken somewhere safe. Don't worry your pretty head. I'll keep you safe.”

 

Somehow Sylar doubted that. 

 

“Where's my chair? They look so comfy.”

 

Fatigues laughed, two rough barks, a command to look at him, to see him, so big and loud and impressive. “Don't get one. They don't tell me, they just bring you in. Maybe you fought coming here? Maybe you kicked the wrong guy.”

 

Sylar shrugged as much as he could. “Maybe I did.” He watched the guy lean closer, tongue darting over his lips. 

 

“Special delivery!” A call from down the hall. Tall, blond and predatory turned with a sigh and walked up the hall. Noises - the clinking of chains, the squeak of wheels, shuffling footsteps coming back down. Sylar saw a couple people, sluggish but ambulatory, move past with a guard at their backs. Another on a stretcher, nosepiece in place. A wheelchair, one front wheel spinning in a crazy circle as a guard leaned heavy on the handles. 

 

Sylar glanced at the chair's occupant and barely held back a gasp. Familiar soft curls, burnt caramel skin, heavy silver thumb ring. Even with his face down on his chest, Sylar felt his heart race in the presence of his favorite asshole. 

 

Wishes really do come true, don't they. 

 

He fought to keep a blank face while his mind raced. 

 

“Sorry, princess, gotta move you. You're awake enough for private quarters now.” Blondie's voice came at the side of him but moved behind as Sylar's world tipped back and he was wheeled down the hall. He fucking was Lecter, what the actual fuck. He hadn't even eaten anyone that morning. 

 

A few feet from the end of the hallway sat Mohinder, head dangling heavy, leaden limbs handcuffed to the chair. He was out. 

 

Sylar counted the hallways, doors, fucking ceiling tiles down the path he was wheeled. He didn't have breadcrumbs but that would do just as well. 

 

“Home sweet home.” His personal guard stopped at a clear door, inches of fiberglass in the illusion of privacy. He bristled at the thought of being a lab rat on display again. 

 

At least it had a cot. Maybe he could talk his way off the board. 

 

He didn't have to, Fatigues was already unstrapping his legs. “How long will I be here?” Sylar asked. He felt shackles close around his ankles, tight around the leather of his boots. Weird they hadn't taken his clothes besides his coat. That probably got in the way of strapping him down. 

 

Fatigues made a noncommittal noise. “Until they transfer you.”

 

“How long until I'm free?” His arms were next, one at a time, the  _ snap  _ of handcuffs on one wrist and the guard moved around him to undo his left arm. His hands were cuffed together in front. They were attached to the shackles on his legs with a short chain, hands tucked close to his body over his groin.

 

The man had the decency to look slightly downtrodden. “You'll never be free. This is for your own protection. And for the people around you.”

 

“But I didn't do anything,” he pouted.

 

“The fact you came in strapped to the no-no board says otherwise.”

 

“Self defense,” Sylar said, rolling his shoulders. He felt sluggish, more than just stiff from being tied up. Whatever was up his nose was fucking with his motor functions. He had to play smart to get out of there. 

 

“Doesn't matter, princess. Sit on the bed.”

 

Sylar ignored the order. He looked at his feet, a foot from the guard, and tilted his head up. He looked at Blondie through his eyelashes. “If I'm gonna be locked up forever, I want just one more thing.”

 

“Got nothing to give you.”

 

“Sure you do.” One half step forward, heavy in the manacles, and he turned his hand to cup his new friend's junk. “One more taste of freedom.” He licked his lips and his stomach turned as Blondie’s cock twitched at his touch and insinuation. “What do you say, big boy?”

 

The man's eyes were wide as saucers, his breath coming quick. He was making it too easy. Sylar moved his hand, a slow drag tip to root. “Oo,  _ big _ boy,” he purred. “Now that's a last meal, not just a snack.” He winked and could see lingering resolve dissipate from the eyes staring him down. 

 

It was gone with a deft tug of his hand, cock going from semiautomatic to fully loaded. “Get on your knees.”

 

“Mmm, that's what I'm talking about.” He wasn't as graceful as he wanted to be with limbs half jelly and chained together but he didn't think points would be detracted from his final score. The man was opening his camos, butter under Sylar's batting eyes. “You know, you should take this out,” he said, wiggling his nose like a fucked up rabbit. “If I can breathe, I won't have to stop.”

 

“Shouldn't.” His hands were in his pants; Sylar's eyes were on his. 

 

“I'll take you down my throat. I'll make it so good for you. I just need to be able to breathe.”

 

He grunted and reached for Sylar's head. Sylar wanted to recoil from his dick hands but stayed still as one cupped his neck and the other wrapped around the device in his nose. “Stay still. This will hurt.”

 

He tugged, once and hard and it  _ hurt,  _ tubes feeling like they came up from his belly. They were only a few inches long when he saw the thing in the man's hand. It was a struggle not to wretch. 

 

He couldn't help the tiny cough as he cleared his throat. Blondie rubbed the back of his neck, going for soothing, coming off as possessive creep. “You have a name, soldier?” he wheezed. 

 

“Cunningham.”

 

Sylar looked up, trying to avoid the dick pointed right at him. “Well, Cunningham,” he grinned. He turned his hand upside down and motioned for Cunningham’s collar. It twitched and he grinned as the man absently slapped his neck. He only had eyes for Sylar on his knees in front of him. 

 

“Thank you,” Sylar said. With a flick of his hand, he sent Cunningham's bulk into the fiberglass window. He hit with a  _ thud _ and not a  _ crack  _ so Sylar wasn't desperate to check on him after he was sure he wasn't going to get up. 

 

He rolled his neck and looked down at his chains as he melted them. He picked up the liquid metal in a floating ball and brought it over to Cunningham. He kicked the man over, tuned his hearing to confirm he was still breathing, his heart still beating. He reformed the chains over Cunningham’s thick wrists and ankles, and after a thought, remelted the chains a few links shorter and fashioned a thin metal gag with the excess. 

 

He kicked Cunningham in the thigh. “Fucking asshole. Don't you know fucking inmates is coercion. Makes you goddamn trash, using your position above them.” He wanted to kick him again but shoved him under the window instead, stretching out his own body as he did. 

 

He felt back to normal after a couple minutes and knelt by the unconscious guard. He didn't bother to cover him up. Whoever found him could see him with his dick out, see what a piece of shit he was. He did touch his face with a grimace, and let his bones and flesh flow to form a perfect disguise. 

 

_ He _ kept his dick in his pants, though. 

 

He took the man's gun from the floor where it had flown when Sylar threw him. One more kick and he was out, striding back down the hall with a purpose. He followed his landmarker breadcrumbs and found the hallway waiting room again with no problem. 

 

Mohinder was still slumped in the chair. Thank god. The hard part was done. 

 

As he stood still, acting the vigilant guard like the others positioned down the hall, and itched to knock on Mohinder's head, wake him up and buffalo their way outta there, he realized the hard part was just beginning. 

 

Patience was always trying for him. He made a mental list to distract himself. 

 

1 - wait for pretty boy to wake the hell up. 

2 - shove off.

 

Not the most intricate plan, but it would hopefully be enough to get them out of there in one piece. 

 

Toward the mouth of the hallway, a woman was coming to in her chair. Sylar watched her snuffle around the power inhibitor up her nose and try to sneeze. That backfired horribly. Sylar could imagine her pain and winced.

 

Her sneeze got the attention of the closest guard and he stood her up, pushing her on a slow march to solitary. She caught Sylar's eyes and looked so, so scared. She didn't look surprised, though. She moved like she had done the walk before. 

 

Like maybe she had escaped before. 

 

The thought bolstered Sylar's confidence before it hit him that the guard was going down the hall Sylar had left the incapacitated Cunningham. 

 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He had to get cracking or life was going to get exponentially more difficult. 

 

While no one was watching, he kicked the wheel to Mohinder's chair and hissed his name. He shrugged and shuffled his arms but didn't wake. Sylar kicked the chair again, feeling it skid across the floor a couple inches. Mohinder jerked, head rolling back, eyes squinted against the fluorescent lighting. 

 

Yes!

 

“Come on, princess, let's roll,” he said, pushing Mohinder out from the wall. 

 

“Wait, is he awake yet?” The guard that just escorted the woman down the hall was back. “You have to watch them until they wake up, what if there's a problem? Think, Ham Hock. Can't have a repeat of last week.”

 

Sylar was going to talk his way out of the mess but Mohinder saved him, blinking awake and immediately demanding answers. “Where am I, what's going on? Who are you? Why can't I walk?”

 

“He's awake,” Sylar said simply, walking past the guard. 

 

Mohinder continued to bark questions as Sylar counted ceiling tiles around a corner once, twice, out of earshot. 

 

“Hey! Where the hell are you taking me?”

 

Sylar stopped the chair and knelt in front of Mohinder. He looked exhausted, angry, and only a little afraid. He flinched back when Sylar pushed a stray curl from his forehead. Sylar smiled and said in Cunningham's voice, “I'm taking you somewhere safe. Don't worry your pretty head. I'll keep you safe.”

 

Of that Sylar had no doubt. 

 

“Get off of me. Who are you?”

 

“Aww, Mohinder, you wound me. Would you remember better with your gun to my head?” He softened his hold of Cunningham's visage and let his own eyes blink at Mohinder.

 

“Sylar,” he gasped. 

 

Sylar winked and his disguise slid back in place. “Here to whisk you away. What  _ did _ you get yourself into, Mohinder?”

 

He ignored him. “What are you doing here?”

 

Sylar shrugged and pulled the wheelchair closer. “Must have got myself caught in the same web you did. At least you have company, I woke up all alone.”

 

“Where are we?”

 

Sylar touched the handcuffs and after a moment's inspection and some very careful mental fingering, unlocked them. Mohinder twitched his hands but could do no more. “A detention center for specials, far as I can tell.”

 

“Well yes, I was hoping you had more than that.”

 

“Well, I'm sorry,” Sylar rolled his eyes. “I woke up, same as you, not long before you. Haven't had much time to figure it out.”

 

“How are you using your powers? Why can't I use mine?”

 

“You're very demanding,” Sylar signed and wrapped a hand around Mohinder's neck. His eyes flew open and he flinched. Sylar's strange mouth cocked a sideways smile and it melted to his normal one as he dropped the doppelganger act. He noticed tension leave Mohinder's jaw as he did. 

 

“I'm sorry, Mohinder.” He grabbed the device sticking from his nostrils. “This is going to hurt.” He pulled it out quick, shushing as he did. Device free, he dropped it in Mohinder's lap and slapped his hand over his mouth as he drew a breath to yell. “Damnit, man, shut  _ up _ !”

 

Mohinder bit Sylar's palm instead. He sucked a deep breath in and Sylar slowly removed his hand, meeting his other at the base of Mohinder's neck and rubbing tiny circles down his shoulders. “The fuck is that?” Mohinder whispered. 

 

“Power inhibitor, but something that messes with voluntary movement, too.”

 

“Fuck. I know. It's mine.”

 

Sylar looked at him as he blinked his watering eyes. “What do you mean? You made this?”

 

Mohinder nodded, regaining some muscle control. “The compound, yes, the delivery mechanism, no. That is barbaric.”

 

He wasn't surprised. “Can you stand?” he asked, offering Mohinder his hand. 

 

“God, no, it'll take a while. Not all of us have accelerated healing.”

 

“Okay then, Wheels. Let's find our way out. Too bad there's no map.” He pushed Mohinder forward. 

 

“Stop.”

 

“Gotta go, unless you're looking forward to a long life of imprisonment and experimentation.”

 

“Stop, Sylar.”

 

He did. “What?” Mohinder shook his head to the wall behind his shoulder. Where a map of the building was tackled up next to a fire extinguisher. “You are kidding me. These guys are seriously giving bad guys a bad name.” He yanked the map down. “And I should know, I used to be one.”

 

“Used to? Your kidnapping and drug induced nap give you a change of heart?” Mohinder scoffed. 

 

“Haha. Something I've been working on,” Sylar answered mindlessly as he looked over the map. “Okay, good news is we're going the right way. Bad news is who knows what's up there. Ready?”

 

“I have literally no choice.”

 

“That's the boyish optimism I expect from you.”

 

“Please shut up.”

 

Sylar was primed to fight their way out but their path was clear through to the back door. It was padlocked but that didn't even slow them down. A melted puddle of metal was all they left as they walked into the sun. 

 

They rolled onto the blacktop of an empty parking lot. The only surroundings were dead grass fields, trees in the far distance. 

 

“What now, genius?” Mohinder asked as he rolled his wrists. 

 

“You  _ could _ contribute instead of bitch.” Sylar tilted his head to listen. Mohinder let him, watching as if he could see the sounds Sylar was searching for. 

 

There was nothing. He stretched his arms over his head and asked how Mohinder was doing moving. He could lift his legs and make fists, so that was a good start. 

 

They started moving across the lot, following the map to a street they couldn't see.

 

“How'd you get the inhibitor out?” Mohinder asked. 

 

“My wiles don't stop with superhuman powers, Mohinder,” he said with a wink. 

 

“Whatever. How'd you do it?” He had his head turned up, hand against the sun, looking stronger and stronger. 

 

Sylar glanced down. “Wouldn't you like to know.” After a beat, “Told a guard I would blow him better if I could breathe,” he answered, lackadaisy. 

 

Mohinder squinted up at him. “Told - fine, whatever, don't tell me.”

 

Sylar hummed off key. Mohinder put his feet down, bracing them to a stop. “Let me go. I don't know what's going on, I don't know why you came for me, but I can't. With you. Whatever is going on -" Sylar held up his hand for quiet. His head was quirked to the building. 

 

“Shit,” he muttered. “Must have found the guard I knocked out.”

 

Red alarm lights lit the building's perimeter and Mohinder was convinced that right then wasn't the time to pick a fight. “Go, let's go,” his voice thin around the edge with panic. 

 

Sylar signed and pushed the chair at a run toward the street. He stopped suddenly, hand wrapped around Mohinder's shoulders to keep him upright. Mohinder was about to ask what the hell but then they saw the dust kickup from a car whipping across the grass at them. Sylar had a moment of panic, saw a couple guards come around the side of the building. 

 

The car roared closer. 

 

He helped Mohinder stand, watched him tighten fists so tight his knuckles cracked. Mohinder's knee gave out and Sylar grabbed his waist. Lightning crackled between his fingers and the car spun in a tight wheel-locked turn in front of them. 

 

The driver's door opened and through the swirling dust, the frightened woman Sylar had seen shuffled down the hallway slammed her hand on the roof as she stood on the frame. 

 

“Come on!” she yelled. Sylar and Mohinder exchanged a look and heard the guards behind them closing in. “What are you waiting for?  _ Get in _ !”

 

An apprehensive nod from Mohinder threw them into motion and Sylar shoved him in the backseat, the car spinning away before he had pulled his legs in behind him. 


	2. Chapter 2

The woman drove with a confidence Sylar would have been pressed to find when he saw her marched down the hall. She spun the wheel with one open palm, car jumping up over the edge of the tarmac into dirt and grass. Dust sprayed up all around them. Her curled hair bounced as she leaned into a turn. 

 

“Who are you?” he asked, holding Mohinder back in the seat as they hit a rabbit hole in the grass. 

 

At the same time, Mohinder asked arguably the more pressing question, “What the  _ fuck _ is going on?” He pushed Sylar's arm away and clung to the seat as he struggled with the seatbelt. 

 

“Language,” she muttered, hitting the road and spinning the tires as she punched it in reverse. She turned, hand laying gracefully on the passenger headrest. Her eyes were sharp and focused as the dust cleared around them. Pulling the emergency brake, she spun them around on locked wheels. With a quick release and a foot jammed on the gas, they flew forward and away from their armed captors. 

 

She turned back to the road and ignored them both. Mohinder finally slowed his movements enough to get the seatbelt to cooperate. Sylar asked him how he was and he shrugged, holding up his hand. It was shaking with adrenaline. 

 

“Shit. At least you're moving now.” Mohinder nodded. To their driver, Sylar asked, “Where are we?”

 

“Upstate,” she answered, eyes darting between the rearview mirror and the open road. 

 

“She speaks.”

 

“She's saving your ass. Shut up.” She drove, fast and silent, for miles and miles away from the building they were detained in. 

 

Mohinder was antsy without any answers. Sylar wasn't much better. Nothing around the car looked familiar, but since he usually stuck to the city, that wasn't a surprise. Mohinder started to ask another question but Sylar silenced him with a hand on his wrist. 

 

The woman - so young she could more be called a girl, Sylar decided as he looked at her - glanced back at them in the mirror. She checked the dashboard clock, two minutes fast, and slowed to a stop on the side of the road. They had driven far enough onto a larger highway there was finally light traffic speeding by them. 

 

She turned around. Mohinder unbuckled to lean in the middle to see her better. He was looking at her curiously. 

 

She signed. “We don't have much time. I need you two to save the world.”

 

“Tried that,” Sylar said. “We just fucked it up.”

 

“Well try harder,” she snapped. “What do you know about Primatech?”

 

“I used to work for them. They've been destroyed.” Mohinder's answer was sure but his tone was not. 

 

“I don't think they have been,” Sylar said. Mohinder's head snapped over to face him. “I worked for the company too. While I wasn't on the science side, I did hear a lot. They were real spread out, hard to eradicate a company under so many names, hiding in paperwork.” He laughed, dry. “Ha. Paperwork. Primatech Paper,” he elbowed Mohinder. 

 

Mohinder shoved him away, unimpressed. “What do you know?” he asked the woman. 

 

“I know its remains have been incorporated into a company called Renautas. They have the remaining research on evos, your research on suppressants,” she nodded to Mohinder. “And other technological advancements.”

 

“Evos?” Sylar muttered, the word leaving his tongue like a slur. 

 

“Evolved humans,” she waved him quiet. “You got a taste of Renautas this afternoon.”

 

“They're who kidnapped me?” Mohinder asked. He glanced at Sylar. “Us?” 

 

“One of their early outfits, yes. I'm sorry about that, by the way,” her eyes darted sideways. 

 

Sylar glared at her. “Why are you sorry?”

 

She looked at him, eyes hard and mouth downturned. “I needed you to see,” was all she said. 

 

“What did you do?” 

 

“Look, I don't have much time -"

 

“Who are you?!” Sylar yelled, hitting the passenger seat. Mohinder's eyes volleyed between the two of them. 

 

She ignored him again and it was starting to really piss him off. “I had to get you both! They were following me, I made a deal with a guy who could send me in to the past  _ once  _ for  _ one day  _ when I died and  _ here I am  _ so shut the fuck up so you can  _ save me _ !”

 

“What are you talking about?” Mohinder asked “You're not making any sense.”

 

She signed and started again in a calm breath. “A few years from now, Renautas is going to debut a way to send people far into the future, to save them from a catastrophe wrought by an evo’s hand. They are  _ choosing _ who to send, who will die on earth, and they are using me to do it!”

 

Mohinder was wrapping his head around what she said when Sylar was hit with who she was. Oh god. 

 

“So you're from the future?” Mohinder asked. “And you want us to help you … stop Renautas?”

 

“Yes,” she breathed. “They must be stopped. Whatever else happens.”

 

“But you said … you died?”

 

She frowned and looked down. “It's what brought me back here. I had a moment in death to choose when and where.”

 

“Why us?”

 

“Because you fucked up, Mohinder.” Tears glistened in her eyes. “You ran from me. I was so lost.”

 

He stared at her. “Do I know you?” He ignored Sylar's hand when he placed it on his leg. “Who are you?”

 

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I knew I changed so much you wouldn't recognize me.”

 

“Mohinder,” Sylar breathed. 

 

“Please, Mohinder,” she begged. “I'm running out of time.”

 

“You said you were sent back for a whole day. It's just the afternoon, shouldn't you have more time?” he asked. 

 

“One day as in twenty four hours. It took - it took most of my time to get you two together.”

 

“Together? We were kidnapped.” Mohinder was looking more and more confused. He needed time to put everything together and Sylar doubted he would get it. 

 

“Yeahhh …” She flushed a guilty shade of pink. 

 

“You orchestrated it. Both of us,” Sylar deduced. She nodded. “What's compromised?”

 

“Your phones, your homes, your job, Mohinder. Your names.”

 

“What?” Mohinder blinked. 

 

“If you go back, you'll be caught again. You're both too dangerous for Renautas. I'm so sorry.”

 

Sylar groaned and leaned his head back on the seat. Fuck it all. “Do you know what you've done?”

 

“I know it's ugly, I didn't have much to work with, okay? I'm sorry!”

 

Mohinder was connecting the dots faster. “So if we stop Renautas, it will save you, as well?”

 

“Maybe.” Her hands were shaking as she checked the clock again. “Shit.” She turned to kneel on the seat and grabbed Mohinder's hand. “Please, don't send me away,” she begged. “I didn't want to go, I couldn't save myself. I could never rely on anyone to save me, either.  _ Teach _ me. Teach me so I can save  _ myself _ .” She was holding his hand in both of hers, knuckles white. Their clasped hands were over Sylar's, still resting on Mohinder's leg. 

 

Slowly, she released his hand, so slowly it looked painful. “Mohinder,” fear thick in her voice as she pled, “I need you.”

 

“Do I know you?” His voice was thin and weak. Sylar was sure he had a pretty good idea who he was taking to finally. 

 

She turned to Sylar, “Don't let him fuck up. You have to be strong when he's not.” She was fighting her hand as it raised to her head, fingers cocked in the shape of a gun. “Please.” 

 

Mohinder tried to pull her hand away from her head. “What are you doing?” She wouldn't budge. “Molly,” he breathed. 

 

A sob escaped her throat. “You remember.”

 

“I could never forget,” he pulled on her arm but again to no avail. “Molly, what are you doing?”

 

“My time's up. Mohinder,” she cried. “Go.”

 

“What? Molly, no.”

 

“Mohinder,  _ go _ !” He didn't budge. Her pointed fingers were trembling. Turning to Sylar, she begged, “Take him."

 

“No, no, stop,” Mohinder fought as Sylar started to pull him from the car. 

 

“Go! Get out of here!”

 

Her desperation frightened Sylar and he pulled Mohinder behind him out of the car. “Mohinder, come on.”

 

“No! Stop!” He fought but Sylar dragged him from the car. “Sylar, no.  _ Molly _ !” Sylar pulled him back and they heard a gunshot from the car, saw blood spatter on the windows.

 

Sylar caught Mohinder as he fell. As they watched, the blood disappeared as fast as it had appeared. Mohinder struggled and while Sylar fought to hold him back, he broke free and ran to the car. Sylar was slower than him and hovered at his back as he searched the empty car frantically.

 

“I don't think she's under the seat,” he said softly as Mohinder fell to his knees to tear at the floorboards. He rubbed his shoulders and was immediately thrown on his ass. Mohinder was on his knees next to him, fist poised, but Sylar's power stopped him. “Thanks, but once was enough.”

 

Mohinder struggled - to whale on him, to get away, to hold back tears - but he was unsuccessful the whole way around. He sagged in the telekinetic hold. Sylar let him go and caught him against his chest, holding him as he broke down. He did get a few solid punches in on Sylar's chest, but Sylar figured he was due. He shushed Mohinder and ran his hands over his back until he caught his breath and pushed away. 

 

He looked at the car forlornly. Sylar brushed tears from his eyelashes with his thumb. Mohinder didn't move away. 

 

“I lost her,” Mohinder mourned. 

 

“No, you didn't.” Mohinder glared at him so he continued, “She said she had already died, that she was brought back for a day to fix it. She came here. To you.” To  _ us _ . “She told you how to help her.” Mohinder pushed up and away. Sylar let him go. He stood and offered Mohinder his hand. “The Molly you know is still alive. Whatever happened to her,” he waved to the car, “Hasn't happened yet, it doesn't need to. So let's go save your girl.”

 

Mohinder ignored his hand and stood on his own. He walked back to the car and slid into the driver's seat, shutting the door and locking it before he turned the key. Sylar crossed his arms and watched him. The car sputtered and wouldn't turn over. Mohinder hit his head on the steering wheel and screamed, loud even from where Sylar stood. 

 

He sat there long enough Sylar tapped on the window. He got out, pissed off. “It's out of gas,” he said, brushing past. He walked down the highway, thumb out. Sylar ran after him. 

 

“Hey! What are you doing?”

 

“What does it look like?”

 

Sylar grabbed his shoulders and spun him around. “No, Mohinder, big picture what are you doing? Where are you going to go?”

 

“I don't know.”

 

“Do you have anyone you can go to?”

 

“No.”

 

“Do you even know where we are? Are you going to hitch the whole way?”

 

“No. Yes.”

 

“Are you sure you're going the right direction?”

 

“Damnit, Sylar, stop.”

 

He shook Mohinder slightly. “I need you to think. You can't just go off with no plan. If we're caught again who knows what could happen?”

 

Mohinder pulled away and started walking again. “Don't get caught. This is my plan.”

 

“Are you going to walk back to New York?”

 

“Have any better ideas?”

 

“Well, I can fly, so I'm not worried about myself.”

 

Mohinder stopped, arms spreading at his side. “Let's go then.”

 

Sylar laughed. “While I appreciate your enthusiasm, I can't carry you.”

 

“And why not?”

 

“I'm not damn Iron Man, Mohinder, I'm not strong enough.”

 

Mohinder's eyes were hard on his. “You need my power.”

 

“I've come to accept that I don't  _ need _ powers.”

 

“Uh huh.”

 

“Hey, come on. New leaves and all that. Hell, I'm trying to start a new book, not just a new damn chapter.” He started walking the direction Mohinder had been, smiling when he heard him follow. He stuck out his thumb when he heard a car approach but it sped past. 

 

“How did you get to me today? If you were captured too?”

 

“I told you already.” Thumb out. He was getting really tired of being ignored. 

 

Mohinder was walking next to him. “You really seduced a guard?”

 

Sylar laughed. “You make it sound so nefarious. He made it a lot easier than that. But maybe tall, dark and drugged up is just his type,” he winked. “He's alive, I knocked him out is all. And I didn't fucking touch him. Gross.”

 

“Gee, I'm so glad.”

 

“Gotta have standards.”

 

Two more cars passed with no luck. “ _ Why’d _ you get me out?” Mohinder asked. 

 

“I couldn't leave you.” Sylar sounded shocked he even had to answer the question. 

 

“You left everyone else.”

 

“They're not you.”

 

“So you're not going to kill me out here for my power?”

 

Sylar looked at him, face cracked in a crazy smile and he laughed. Mohinder stopped walking and watched him catch his breath. He finally answered between laughs. “No, no. Don't kill for powers anymore.” He smiled, not looking quite so crazy anymore. “I don't need to kill people.”

 

Mohinder watched a car fly by without either of them trying for the driver's attention. “You don't take powers anymore?”

 

“Didn't say that. I just don't need to kill to get them.” He started walking again. 

 

Mohinder grabbed at his shirt sleeve as he caught up. Sylar glanced at his hand and he pulled it away. “How, then?”

 

Sylar's grin took on a mystery of secrets and promises. “Sex usually works.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“If I understand someone I can see why they have their power, how to use it, how to take it. What better way to get inside someone's head than to get inside them? Or the other way, I'm versatile.”

 

Mohinder shook his head, hands raised. “Stop. That's more than I … ugh.”

 

Sylar hummed and they walked in silence. Another car passed his outstretched thumb and he was done. He grabbed Mohinder's shoulders and shoved him to the side closest to the highway. 

 

“Hey!”

 

“This isn't working, your turn. Show ‘em some ankle or chest or something. I've subjugated myself already today, it's your turn.”

 

“Well, maybe if you didn't walk like a damn psychopath,” Mohinder muttered. 

 

“Sociopath, thank you.”

 

“Asshole,” Mohinder corrected and turned to walk backwards with his thumb out. He looked like he was fighting something. Sylar guessed he lost the fight when he asked quickly, “You would fuck me to take my power?”

 

“Oh honey. Your power would be the last thing on my mind if I got you.”


	3. Chapter 3

They  _ had _ been walking the wrong way, according to the first car to stop for Mohinder's disappointingly traditional thumbs-out hitchhiking tactics. Sylar swore once, and again when the man told them they were four hours out from the City. Mohinder thanked him and they rushed across the highway, barely avoiding a Frogger reenactment.

 

“See, it's exactly times like this that being able to fly us both home would come in handy,” Mohinder snapped as they walked with hands raised against the setting sun. 

 

“If only we could combine our powers,” Sylar said sarcastically. 

 

“How does taking powers work? Without, um, taking a look at my brain?”

 

Sylar grinned at his omission. “Empathy. Powers are usually dependent on the person that displays them, if I understand their personality, their motives, I can see why they have and how to use their power.”

 

“Really.” He couldn't hide the interest in his voice. Always gathering data, making hypotheses. “Why do I have mine, then? Why am I strong?”

 

“Overcompensation,” Sylar smirked. Mohinder glared and he laughed. “How about we continue playing twenty questions? You  _ definitely _ asked your fair share earlier, maybe I can get to the root of you and get us the hell outta here, huh?”

 

Mohinder looked around at the nothingness surrounding them. “It's not like there's anything else to do.”

 

“Great spirit, there. Why are you so negative? You used to be … happy. Hopeful.”

 

Mohinder looked taken back. “Do you really have to ask?”

 

“That's the game,” Sylar singsonged. 

 

Mohinder signed. “Everything I've done had been for nothing. I have nothing but pain to show for my work, I'm literally left with  _ nothing  _ in my life now because one of the only people I care about threw me under a bus. I couldn't succeed with my research, my experiments were a huge failure, I've almost died, I don't know how many times, and now I'm stuck walking a long road to nowhere with  _ you. _ ”

 

“Ouch. Don't spare my feelings, please.”

 

“What feelings?”

 

Ouch again. He hid behind a snide remark. “Glad to know I'm only a _ part _ of your problems, then.” He really needed to work on healthy communication and stop hiding behind attitude. Someday. 

 

“I can't let you rule my life.”

 

“Why do you, though?”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Why do you let me keep coming back to you? If I'm so damn terrible.”

 

“I don't. You just don't leave me alone.”

 

Sylar felt a gentle tickle in the back of his skull and decided to press. “I'm serious. I know why I come back, but you never send me away.”

 

“I have no choice.” Little tingle. 

 

“Right now, maybe. But we keep coming together.”

 

Mohinder raised an angry finger to his face. “Don't you dare say anything about destiny.”

 

Sylar mimed locking his lips but continued to look at him questioningly. 

 

“I don't know.” Lies. “Maybe I'm just a glutton for punishment.”

 

Sylar wondered what he thought he deserved punishment for. He decided to save that question. “Why genetics? Out of everything you could study.”

 

“It's what my father did.”

 

“Do you want to be like him?”

 

With a sigh, Mohinder answered, “I don't know. He was always so focused on his work. And he turned out to be the laughing stock of the science community, obsessed with human evolution."

 

“But he was right. All those people that laughed at him were not. We're proof he was  _ right _ , Mohinder, doesn't that count for something?”

 

“ _ You're _ proof he was right. I'm proof of humanity's tenacity and stupidity. I used my own body, my own blood, for experimentation and it went wrong. I knew it could, but I did it anyway. I did what my father couldn't, I went a step too far.”

 

“I think you came out alright,” Sylar shrugged. 

 

“I was rash.”

 

Sylar pushed, “Do you want to be like your father?”

 

“No.”

 

“What do you want, more than anything?”

 

“I don't know.” Mohinder's eyes were sad. 

 

Sylar was surprised to know that was the truth. “I can read your desires. If you want.”

 

“No.” That was a lie. A small one, maybe a confused answer now than a lie, but Sylar filed it away. “You really need to give me a list of all your powers.”

 

“Nah, takes away the fun of springing them on you,” Sylar grinned. “Hmm.” He made a show of thinking over questions. “What's your favorite color?”

 

The frivolity made Mohinder laugh. “What?”

 

A shrug was all he got so he answered, “Violet, I guess.”

 

Sylar glanced at him with a smile. “Yeah? It is a spectacular color on you.” He took the excuse to look Mohinder over, his dark blue shirt gently stripped with purple. Damn, he had missed him. 

 

“Shut up.”

 

“But seriously, I know you're not in genetics just because it runs in the family. Why, then?”

 

Mohinder's tiny smile grew crooked but Sylar knew well enough he was more apt to be open when he was smiling. That, and he was gorgeous. 

 

“Actually, it  _ is _ family that made me so interested in genetics.”

 

“Your sister?”

 

Mohinder nodded. “Yes. My sister and her ability, her illness. Why she was special and I was just human.”

 

Sylar tapped Mohinder's arm. “Don't belittle yourself.” 

 

“Just the facts.” They walked by a large flowering bush leaning across the shoulder. Sylar wrapped his arm around Mohinder's and pulled him to walk in front and off the highway. “Thank you,” he said quietly. 

 

The sun was falling behind the horizon and they walked slower, careful in the dusky light. Mohinder coughed as he kicked up dirt. “What do you want?” he asked Sylar, not meeting his eyes. “More than anything?”

 

“I want a car.”

 

“Seriously.”

 

Sylar looked over at him, thumb lazily out, eyes shining in the fading light, hair windswept. “I want you to not hate me,” he danced around the honest truth. 

 

Mohinder looked at him then. His eyes were dark and unreadable. “Don't you see? I don't. That's the problem.”

 

The night was still around them, traffic tapered to a slow trickle. Still no good samaritans. Sylar fought against a shiver and Mohinder's words rattled in his head. They were likely to drive him crazy. 

 

“Why did you send Molly away?” he asked to break the tension in himself.

 

Mohinder's hands clenched into fists. He shook his head and Sylar touched his arm. “Why. Not where. I'm not trying anything, here, scout's honor.”

 

They walked in silence, Mohinder kicking at rocks. His voice was raw when he finally answered, “I had to keep her safe.”

 

“From me?”

 

“From everything.” Not a lie. 

 

“Are you going to get her? Like she asked?”

 

“No.”

 

“Damnit, Mohinder, why?” He was suddenly and very pissed at the simple, truthful answer. “She literally asked you to help her. She needs you.”

 

“She needs to stay away.”

 

“How old do you think she was today? Because I'd be surprised if she was old enough to drink before she died.”

 

“ _ Fuck  _ you!”

 

“No, Mohinder, fuck  _ you _ if you think being selfish is going to do any good for that girl.”

 

“And what, bring her on our eternal walk? I have _ nowhere _ to go, nowhere to live, and you want me to pick up a  _ child  _ to go nowhere with me?”

 

“I have an idea, okay? Somewhere to stay while we figure everything out, while we each figure something out. You can stay with me.” Mohinder glared at him. “Do you trust me? 

 

“No.”

 

Sylar tilted his head with the tingle at the base of his skull. “Did you know I can tell when you lie? I can feel it.”

 

“You're kidding.”

 

“No. It's a more recent acquisition. Just thought you'd like to know.”

 

“Great.” Mohinder went back to kicking rocks. 

 

“Do you trust me?”

 

“I shouldn't.”

 

“Probably not.”

 

“But … I don't think you'd cause me harm me.”

 

“That's not quite the same as trust, Mohinder, but I guess I'll take it. No, I don't want to hurt you.”

 

They watched each other as they walked, Mohinder with wary eyes, Sylar trying not to look like he was begging. A car rolled up next to them, the passenger window rolling down. “Hey, you two need help?”

 

“We need a ride,” Sylar said around Mohinder's shoulders. “To New York?”

 

“Well, you can ride south with me for a while.” They exchanged a look. Mohinder's said that no matter if the man picking them up was in fact a crazy axe murderer, his travel companion was more dangerous. Sylar just continued to try not to beg. 

 

Mohinder sat in the back seat, pointing Sylar to the front. 

 

A small victory. 


	4. Chapter 4

The inside of the repair shop looked untouched, if dusty. The walls of the back were still lined with neatly labeled boxes, a few interesting looking clocks, and rows and rows of books. Odd tools and magnifiers were spread out on the worktable next to an old desk clock. There was a couch shoved in the corner Sylar had brought in after spending too many long nights bent over his work and missing the train home. 

 

Some nights he just couldn't go home to an empty apartment, either. It was just too cold there, with no company but his own rattling thoughts. He had often preferred to spend his time between the walls of Gray and Sons. 

 

He had set up rent and bill payments through his uncle's trust after he passed and hadn't been more glad before that moment. It was a relief to be within the walls again. 

 

Mohinder fluffed a pillow at the arm of the couch and dust flew. He coughed and offered to take the pillows to the back alley to shake some out. 

 

Sylar nodded, fingers trailing over his worktable, slick still after its last careful oiling. He remembered the last time he had sat there, working on a clock he had found at the flea market - a heavy piece from the forties that rattled when he shook it. He had offered the seller two dollars for the broken clock and knew once he fixed and cleaned it, it would be worth one hundred times that. 

 

It was a beautiful piece, but he hadn’t been able to concentrate on it while his heart sang a hideous bloodlust. He had left the clock torn open on the table as he slid his coat over his shoulders and disappeared into the night for what he figured was the final time. 

 

He hadn't been able to go back from  _ Sylar _ , hadn't felt that he could reclaim his old life. He didn't really mind that his apartment was compromised, he had never felt like his life was there. But he had missed his shop, even if he hadn't realized until just then. 

 

He heard Mohinder come back in and walked through to the front of the shop, unwilling to share his bittersweet nostalgia. 

 

It was exactly as he had left it - shutters down, displays neat, cash register empty and safe full. That was good. 

 

He had never shut off mail service so there was a good sized pile under the slot in the door. He grabbed a large handful and spread it across a glass display case of watches. 

 

Junk, coupons, junk,  _ to whom it may concern _ ,  a few bills addressed to  _ Gray and Sons _ , and an envelope addressed in neat cursive to  _ Gabriel Gray _ . He opened that one and smiled, small and sad, as he read a thank you letter from a customer whose pocket watch he had pieced back together. It had belonged to the man's grandfather. He had mailed an old photograph of his grandfather, uniformed in front of a small plane, the serious expression of someone shipping off to war on his young face. 

 

Sylar hadn't known Mohinder was with him until his hand was on the letter. “What's this?”

 

Sylar watched him as he read the letter. “People don't always realize clocks don't just tell the current time.” Mohinder glanced up at him, acknowledging he was listening before turning back to the letter. Sylar continued, “They hold memories, watches became a part of a person that lasts for generations. They're heirlooms. I've fixed timepieces for sons and daughters and great grandchildren so they can hold a piece from someone's past to remember them in the present. I've fixed watches fathers have wanted to pass to sons because their father had passed it down, and his father before.” He shrugged. “I heard from a lot of sentimental people.”

 

He took the letter back from Mohinder's hand and went back to his work room where he tacked the photo over the letter on a corkboard over the sink, where he had done others before. Color photos from the sixties, small rectangular black and whites from before, a couple polaroids carefully pinned at the corners. Mohinder traced his finger along the edge of the board, looking over the photos of the dead and loved on display in Sylar's private space. 

 

The look he gave Sylar was unreadable. 

 

Uncomfortable, Sylar found himself fidgeting under his eyes. “I know it's not much,” he motioned to the shop. “But it should be safe. The property is still in my uncle's name so it's not obviously attached to me.”

 

Mohinder's expression didn't change. “It will do,” he said, words clipped in his accent. “Thank you,” he said, softer. 

 

Sylar ran a nervous hand through his hair. “We could see what our own places look like, it's late so maybe there's no one around, get in and grab some things. Clothes. Whatever,” he shrugged. 

 

“I think we could do that.”

 

“Don't think we should rent a car so I'll call a cab. Unless you want to carry things on the train?”

 

“No, I've got a few … big things. Make this place more livable for a while.”

 

“Okay.” Sylar dialed up a cab from the phone at the counter while Mohinder wandered the storefront. He leaned against the doorway and watched Mohinder's delicate fingers trace along the edges and curves of antiques. He stopped at a wild piece of light blue enamel swooping long against the wall, the centered clock set up in an elongated oval. 

 

“I love fifties retro futurism,” Sylar said quietly, attracting Mohinder's attention from where he was fingering the chrome edges of the clock. “It foretold an extravagant future that never actually came, but it still makes me hopeful for it. It's weird.”

 

Mohinder pursed his lips and turned away. “The cab will be here in a minute,” Sylar said. “We're meeting him on the corner. Let's go.”

 

Mohinder followed him out of the alley and into the backseat of the cab. He didn't look surprised when Sylar gave his address to the driver. He had been there enough times to know the address. There was no obvious detail watching the building so they decided it would be safe if they were fast. 

 

Sylar followed him upstairs to his father's old apartment and offered to box up some things from the kitchen while Mohinder threw some clothes and personal effects in a bag. He grabbed a hotplate and electric kettle from the closet and added them to Sylar's arms. With a duffel bag and his laptop satchel on his back, he unplugged the light from the terrarium housing his father's lizard. 

 

Sylar's smile was wide and true as he leaned down to gently tap the glass. “You kept him!” Mohinder nodded. “You know he named him after you?” Sylar asked as they walked carefully down too many flights of stairs. “He used to talk to the lizard, bounce ideas and explain theories at him. Almost like he'd get an answer someday.”

 

His smile fell as Mohinder growled, “All while I'm one damn phone call away, where he'd get real answers.”

 

“And real bullshit.” Sylar didn't know why he felt compelled to defend Mohinder's father against him. “Face it, Mohinder, you don't make it easy for the people around you.”

 

“What the hell do you know about me?” He juggled the terrarium, awkwardly large in his arms. He dodged Sylar's attempt to help. 

 

“I know you're a pain in the ass, I know you drive me up the damn wall, you're stubborn as shit, you're closed off and too damn …  _ you _ to say you're scared! You're an asshole. You push people away but you can't be alone. I know you pretty damn well, Mohinder. We're not that different.”

 

Mohinder put his load in the taxi's trunk and grit his teeth. “Do you feel better, now that you've yelled at me?”

 

“Yes, I actually do,” Sylar snapped as he set the overflowing box in the trunk. He sat in the front seat and left Mohinder in the back with his arms crossed, glowering out the window on the short trip to Sylar's apartment. 

 

There were police cruisers parked around the building, marked and not, they weren't even hiding. He'd have to come back. Sylar sighed and asked the driver to bring them back to the corner near Gray and Sons. He paid while Mohinder pulled everything out of the trunk. 

 

Sylar opened the back door for him and followed him in. Mohinder took the lizard to the front room and set him up for the night. He watched Sylar unpack the few pieces of stone and glassware he had grabbed by the sink, the appliances he set nearby, and was left swinging his bag awkwardly in the middle of the room. 

 

When Mohinder came back to the workroom, he shrugged and offered, “I'll sleep on the floor. Or a chair or something.”

 

“The couch is a pull out,” Sylar said offhandedly. 

 

“Is that an offer?”

 

“Yes.” 

 

Mohinder took his bag from Sylar and set it on the floor as he plopped back on the couch. “I'm sorry I snapped at you,” he said without making eye contact. “Everything was just … too much, right then.”

 

“Yeah. I'm sorry I yelled at you. How's your friend?”

 

“My friend?”

 

Sylar smirked. “Your little pal in the front room, the one with the tail?”

 

“Oh. I don't know. I don't know anything about lizards. I just keep him alive.”

 

“Guess I should read up on it, then.” Mohinder shrugged a half assed reply. “You look exhausted.”

 

“Guess kidnapping will do that to a person.” 

 

“I'll help you pull the bed out,” Sylar said as he pushed the worktable back. It scraped a sad few inches until Mohinder shoved it across the room with one hand and seemingly no effort. Sylar's eyes flew wide. “Damn. That's -" hot “- that's something. Show off.”

 

Mohinder winked and flexed and Sylar felt his heartbeat skip as he helped unfold the bed. It kicked into high gear when Mohinder started unbuttoning his shirt, throwing it over the arm of the couch. 

 

“Well?” Mohinder asked. 

 

“What?” Sylar tried to look cool and not stare. Mohinder motioned to the bed and then him.

 

“Are you going to sleep or just stand around and be anxious all night?”

 

Damn. So much for playing it cool. 

 

“Is that the restroom?” Sylar nodded when Mohinder pointed to the closed door by the sink in the corner. “Great.” He yawned and walked over. Sylar signed and waited for his turn by the book shelves. He touched the spines without really seeing them. He couldn't not see Mohinder shuffle by barefooted, slacks open at the waist, shoes in hand. 

 

He was already gently snoring when Sylar joined him in the darkened room, slipping from his clothes and tucking under the sheets in boxers. He looked at Mohinder, belly down and facing away from him on folded arms. He wove his fingers together on top of his own stomach and attempted sleep, hard coming with the livewire next to him in bed. 

 

Mohinder's elbow slid under his pillow and he eventually nodded off. 


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

Morning came too early and he woke up with Mohinder's hand over his heart and his hair ticking his face. He smelled like shampoo and a little like sweat and Sylar fought to not pull him closer. He shut his eyes and let the strong, even beating of his heart against his arm lull him back to rest.

 

He was awake enough to know when Mohinder slipped from sleep’s grasp. He yawned and stretched, sleep warm body pressing closer to Sylar's. He didn't want to move but Mohinder's hand slid through the hair across his chest as he hummed and Sylar couldn't help but to tighten his grip around his shoulders.

 

“Morning,” Mohinder yawned. He pushed himself up and Sylar let him. He grunted his own greeting and kicked his knees up as he felt he was half hard. Fuck, Mohinder drove him crazy.

 

Mohinder shuffled to the bathroom and Sylar tried to calm down. He took his own turn, splashing cold water on his face before he realized there was no towel over the sink. He exited with a sigh and was smacked in the face with his jeans.

 

“Get dressed,” Mohinder ordered. “We need to eat and figure out what we're doing.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Sylar said, slipping the pants on and trying not to openly stare at Mohinder half dressed by the rumpled bed they had just shared. Down, dick. Bad dick.

 

Fuck. He may have made a mistake or two taking Mohinder home.

 

Mohinder waved at him from across the room. “Come on, snap to it.” Sylar rolled his eyes and did not watch Mohinder button an ugly shirt over his beautiful skin.

 

They walked a few blocks to a diner Sylar remembered to be mediocre. The smell of breakfast meats and toast was glorious, though, and he wanted one of everything. He realized he hadn't eaten since before they had been kidnapped the day before.

 

They sat at the counter, each cradling a mug as they waited for their food.

 

Sylar tried to drown himself in coffee as fast as the waitress would refill it. Mohinder turned to him, nursing his first mug of milky English breakfast tea, and asked, “What do we need to do first?” He crossed his ankle over his knee, the toe of his shoe touching Sylar's hip as he bounced to the beat of the corny eighties song on the fuzzy radio.

 

“I need to get into my apartment.”

 

“But it's swarmed.”

 

“But what if I don't look like me going in?” Sylar glanced over, eyebrow raised.

 

“Good idea. We need phones. In case.”

 

“Of course. We'll pick up some disposables after breakfast?”

 

“Great,” Mohinder nodded. “You go to your place, I'll see what I can get out of my office.”

 

“Um, no you won't.” Mohinder looked at him and he shook his head. “Where did they take you from?” Mohinder didn't answer. “Uh huh. I'm not letting you go back. Not alone. I can't guarantee I can save you next time.” Sylar forced his tone to stay light.

 

Mohinder signed and swirled his tea. “I guess there's nothing I need there, anyway. I have all my research uploaded to a secondary cloud storage, I just need to access it.”

 

“Okay, then. First order of business, don't get kidnapped again. Check.”

 

Mohinder looked behind Sylar and his eyes lit up. “No, first order of business, food.” He opened a paper napkin on his lap and thanked the waitress as she set his omelet and toast down, and a large stack of pancakes topped with bacon for Sylar.

 

They ate in starving silence, Mohinder stealing syrup for his hashbrowns, Sylar retaliating by taking a large bite of his buttered toast. Mohinder shoved him away playfully and Sylar cast him a curious smile over a forkful of pancake.

 

He drank about a pot more coffee and finally felt human again. Mohinder scowled into his own cool mug, still the first one, and Sylar took it from him. A tiny zap of radioactivity warned it right up and he handed it back piping hot.

 

“Thank you. I thought you lost that?”

 

“The power?” he wiggled his fingers as Mohinder nodded. “I thought I did. I, uh, spent some time soul searching after I died. I woke up and couldn't remember anything. _Anything_. Someone showed me what I had done and I couldn't take it. I tore myself apart with guilt. When I accepted it as my past, when I decided that wasn't going to be who I was anymore, that's when I could access all the powers I thought I had lost. I guess guilt was the key.” He sat back in the stool. “I know what I've done. It makes me sick, but the only thing I could do was change who I was becoming. And let them all live on through their powers in me.” He raised a finger over the fork resting on his plate and let loose a tiny zap of lightning. It danced between the metal and his skin until it fizzled out.

 

“Elle?” Mohinder asked, sounding surprised. He hadn't known.

 

“Yes. And so many more.” He blinked away the stinging in his eyes as he remembered the highlight reel of murder he had been shown at the Sullivan Brothers Carnival. “You know the worst part?” He turned to Mohinder. “I don't remember them all. I remember who I took powers from, but there have been so many more I've hurt, I've killed,” his voice dropped to a whisper. “Agents and officers and bystanders. It makes me so fucking sick.”

 

Mohinder placed a hand on his thigh. He looked lost on what else he could do but the fact he had even tried was overwhelming. Sylar wiped tears from his eyes with the heels of his hands. The waitress tried not to look at them as she dropped off the cheek. Sylar swore under his breath. He waved Mohinder away and dropped cash on the bill, draining his coffee before he stood. Mohinder finished his tea and followed.

 

He was still blinking back emotion as they walked. Mohinder touched his hand. “So you really don't kill anymore.”

 

“I really don't. If I could take it all back, give back each and every life, I would. I would trade anything to go back. All I can do is move forward, though.”

 

“Yes. That's all that any of us can do.”

 

***

 

Mohinder ended up waiting awkwardly across the street while Sylar tried some breaking and entering at his apartment. Hopefully with no actual breaking. He had touched three different commuters while walking the last couple blocks, morphing into a large man in a power suit, a younger bearded student, and a petite woman in massive high heels before he reached the building.

 

He walked by an officer standing outside his cruiser with a coffee and a cigarette and he tripped over the heels - smooth enough to land in the officer's outstretched arm but clumsy enough that the fall wasn't a complete fake. “Oh thank you so much,” he winced at the high voice coming from his mouth as he stood and brushed his dress off. The officer tried for small talk but he simply smiled and waved and was on his way.

 

He stepped around the corner of his building and his skin and bones slid into the officer's visage. He cracked his neck and took sure steps in the man's practical boots and quickly leapt up the stairs.

 

His apartment was empty so he took his time filling a backpack and an empty banker's box with clothes and whatever else he thought he would need. He took one last glance around the place and left feeling bittersweet.

 

He walked by the officer in high femme mode again, shaking his hair as the man openly watched him move, a little better in the stupid shoes the second time. Mohinder gave him a wary look as he crossed the street and Sylar perked his eyebrows and smiled crooked, a familiar expression on a stranger's face.

 

Mohinder reached to grab the box but they heard the officer behind them. “Hey. Hey, wait!”

 

Sylar looked over his dainty shoulder and saw the man speaking into the walkie on his chest, power walking across the street. “Shit. How fast can you run?”

 

Mohinder hadn't noticed the officer yet. “What? Fast.”

 

“Fucking _go_ ,” Sylar shoved into him with the box. Mohinder saw the pursuing officer and swore, turning to run. Sylar was trailing behind but switched to a pair of longer legs and fitter lungs when he turned the corner. Mohinder glanced back and saw a bearded guy chasing after him carrying Sylar's box so he kept running.

 

Mohinder was fast. Sylar figured it was part of his power and had a moment of jealousy as he struggled to keep close. He watched Mohinder turn a corner and exhaled in annoyance as it took him the extra seconds to keep up.

 

He could hear the officer behind him, but he was substantially further back. They might just get away.

 

He couldn't see Mohinder anywhere when he turned the corner wide, struggling to keep the lid on his box and his feet from slipping. A hand flashed in front of him and he tried to dodge but was caught and pulled toward the open door of a cab.

 

“Come on,” Mohinder said from inside, looking like he was fighting against a smile as he pulled Sylar into the back with him. He gave the driver the corner address near the shop as Sylar leaned his head back to catch his breath. His heart was racing but he could hear Mohinder's beating even and steady. Another twinge of jealousy.

 

“You alright?” Mohinder asked him. Sylar nodded, not trusting himself to speak without gasping. Mohinder patted his leg and gave him a small smile. “Now what?” he asked.

 

Sylar held up a finger, motioning for him to wait. After a moment, he figured he could talk. “Now the fun begins. Let's take these bastards down.”


	6. Chapter 6

The takedown started with a search of Renautas’ power players, acquisitions and stock shares. All public knowledge and easy to build a springboard off of which they could dig deeper. While Mohinder searched for connections between them and other companies, Sylar flipped through Chandra Suresh’s book for any names that came up - companies, researchers, naysayers even - and wrote up a list. Mohinder would throw out a name as he found them and on the list it would go. 

 

The list grew longer and Sylar moved to a new sheet of paper, making a loose flow chart as they worked together connections. Mohinder leaned across the worktable to grab the list, adding a couple notes in his loose loopy lettering, whimsical next to Sylar's neat, tight writing. He put the list back on the open book but it caught his eye. 

 

Sylar watched him turn the book toward him and run his finger gently over the annotations he had made when Chandra had first given it to him. His personal observations, notes about the experiments Doctor Suresh had run him through, vague questions ‘how though,’ ‘if this,’ ‘why not me.’

 

Mohinder flipped through the pages and saw his careful handwriting on most pages. Sentences were underlined, paragraphs bracketed, sometimes a mindless doodle lay in the corner. 

 

Sylar felt a little embarrassed to see his personal thoughts fly through Mohinder's hands and he struggled to not take the book back. He pressed his hands together in front of his face, an unconscious namaste. Hello. Hello, this is me. Hello, this is my thoughts, my hopes, my failures. Hello, please don't hurt me. Please don't hate me. 

 

Mohinder slid the book back with a sad smile. He grabbed Sylar's jointed hands in a quick squeeze and closed his laptop screen. “I think that's a good start.” He tapped Sylar's list, “This is a fabrication company Renautas bought two years ago, they sent someone that appears to be a lead designer once commissioned by Pinehearst to manage projects when they took over. Their website says they're closed today since it's Sunday, but let's check it out. It's just across the city.”

 

“What do you want to do there?” 

 

“At least case the site - entrances, cameras, see if there is a patrol car.”

 

“And at most?”

 

Mohinder grinned. “We'll go in, maybe take plans and files, see how we can disable them.”

 

“I like that.” Sylar found his face copying Mohinder's smile. 

 

“I thought you would.”

 

***

 

“It's been fifteen minutes with no security in sight. Let's just try.”

 

“It's been thirteen,” Sylar corrected. “And we shouldn't just break in the damn place.”

 

“Shouldn't. Not can't.”

 

Sylar let the thought tumble around the more impulsive parts of his brain for a moment. “Okay, let's go.”

 

“Yes!” Mohinder hissed under his breath. 

 

Sylar smiled. “I didn't know you'd get so excited over committing petty crimes.”

 

“You have no idea what gets me excited.”

 

“Oh, really? You should enlighten me,” he teased as they ducked around the nose of the car they had been standing by. 

 

Mohinder just grinned and walked quickly through the parking lot after double checking it was empty. 

 

Sylar watched him go and sent a zap of electricity to the security camera over the door before Mohinder got in sight. 

 

“Thanks,” he said as Sylar stopped at the front door with him. 

 

“No problem.” Mohinder fell to his knees and dug a lockpick kit from his back pocket. He stuck two pins in the keyhole and Sylar couldn't help but be impressed. “You are truly a man of many skills.”

 

Mohinder stuck one of the pins in his mouth and chose another to dig for entry. He waved it up at Sylar as he remembered, “Oh yeah, start thinking what you want your name to be.” His attention turned back to the lock. “I have a friend that makes fake IDs. Never know when we need to pretend to be real people again.”

 

“As I said. Many skills.”

 

“Yes, because making friends is such a skill.”

 

Sylar shrugged as Mohinder popped the lock. “It is.” He gave Mohinder a hand up and shut the door behind them as they entered. He fried the cameras blinking in the corners. 

 

Mohinder pursed his lips, lost on the machinist’s floor, but he started poking around to figure it out. Sylar walked past him to the office and set about digging through a filing cabinet. Mohinder joined him after a moment and shuffled the paperwork stacked on the desk. “Aha.” Peeking over his shoulder, Sylar saw blueprints labeled ‘Project: G 2.5.2’ and reached around him to trace his fingers over the shapes. He hummed, putting it together in his head. 

 

Sylar left the office and heard Mohinder roll the plans up behind before following. A quick glance around the shop and he found each of the pieces from the blueprint, throwing them in a box and nodding to the door. He telekinetically locked it behind them and Mohinder said, “Scrabble.”

 

“What?” He set a gentle hand on Mohinder's back and led him across the parking lot again, box of puzzle pieces and blueprints in hand. 

 

“Scrabble. I find word games very exciting.”

 

Sylar squinted at him through the corner of his eye. “Every time I start to think you're kinda cool, you circle right back to being a giant dork.”

 

His smile could have melted the polar ice caps. 


	7. Chapter 7

The box in his hands felt like the greatest Christmas present ever. He shook it a little on the train back to the shop and Mohinder grinned, as if reading his thoughts. 

 

It only took a half hour to assemble the small machine; Sylar hardly needed the blueprints as he pieced it together naturally. Mohinder sat on the refolded couch after he snapped at him for hovering. He was bent over his computer, muttering quietly to himself. 

 

Sylar turned the machine over in his hand. He could see it was part of a power converter, but he couldn't see anywhere to connect a power supply to run it. It had him stumped and he was growing frustrated. He set it on the corner of his work table with the antique clock he should be working on. 

 

He tuned in to what Mohinder was thinking about outloud and it sparked a vague feeling of a memory. “I think … I think your dad left notes here once. That sounds so familiar.”

 

“Really?” Mohinder sounded more relaxed and excited than Sylar could remember him ever being about his father. “Great, I'm trying to figure out the catalyst for powers in people with genetic inclinations. Been picking at it a while.”

 

“That's a heavy pet project.” Sylar put the rolled up schematics in the corner and looked around the room. “I think there's something on a flash drive. But I have no idea where I put it,” he pouted in thought. 

 

“I'm sure we'll find something,” Mohinder said as he stood and stretched. Sylar turned away from the long lines of his body.

 

Sylar was shoulder deep in a plastic tote trying to find the old flash drive when he heard Mohinder chuckle behind him. He turned to see him by the work table, drawer open as he tried to find the same thing. He had something in his hand.

 

“What's so funny?”

 

Mohinder looked over at him, smiling. “Not funny. Just … you get a lot of company back here, before all this?”

 

“What?”

 

Mohinder held up a small tube of personal lubricant and let a strip of condoms unroll in his hand. 

 

Oh shit. He forgot he had those there. What a moron. He stomped over to Mohinder and swiped them, shoving them back in the drawer. He felt his face flush and turned back away. Mohinder grabbed for his arm but he pulled away too quick. 

 

“Sylar. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to laugh. Really. It's just with your pull out couch, and condoms hidden away,” he chucked again. “There's a whole side of you I don't know about, isn't there?”

 

“There's a lot you don't know about me.” He crossed his arms and tried to control his blush. He was unsuccessful. 

 

“You're just always prepared, aren't you? Picture perfect Boy Scout.”

 

“To have you know, I  _ was _ a model Scout, all the way to Eagle.”

 

“Really?” Mohinder smiled softly. 

 

“Yes. It was a healthy, structured, after school activity that kept my aunt out of my hair and me in control. I was an excellent Boy Scout.”

 

Mohinder looked at him, face serious. “I am not surprised.” He cracked into a goofy smile again. “But seriously, tell me about this love den you had prepared back here. Someone can't pay for their repairs, you, what, take them back here and _ work out a deal _ ?” His face was positively lewd.

 

Sylar threw his hands up and grabbed the box he had been digging through. “Jesus, Mohinder, what the hell do you think of me? I had a damn fantasy, okay?”

 

“To fuck someone in the back of your shop?”

 

“ _ Get fucked _ in the back of my shop,” he growled. He nearly bit his tongue off grinding his teeth to gain some amount of control. He turned away, burying himself in his search.

 

What the hell was he looking for, again? 

 

“ _ We _ could, you know?”

 

Sylar stayed with his head in the box, trying to bury his furiously blushing face. “We could what?” he growled. 

 

“Fuck.”

 

Sylar whipped around. Mohinder stood still by the work table, cocky grin in place as Sylar grew more flustered. 

 

“Don't mess around, Mohinder.”

 

“I want to. Don't you?” He quirked an eyebrow and made a careful show of looking Sylar over, eyes crossing shoulder to shoulder, down over his hips where Sylar knew for a fact his jeans accentuated every inch of him, down long legs and back to his face. He wished he didn't look shocked, but he knew he did. 

 

Maybe Mohinder thought stupefied was cute. He hoped. 

 

Mohinder's face softened. “No,” he said thoughtfully, “I wouldn't be adverse to messing around with you.”

 

Sylar bit his lip. He took a cautious step forward, as if the world would open up and swallow him whole. There had to be a big cosmic joke running. 

 

Mohinder continued to smile, wider as Sylar pulled closer. 

 

“May I kiss you?” Sylar asked, eyes falling to Mohinder's quirked lips. 

 

“I would prefer you did.”

 

Sylar swallowed hard and took Mohinder's face between his hands. He tilted his head back, watching his eyes half close as he looked Sylar over. Sylar licked his lips, Mohinder's eyes following the movement, and gasped when Mohinder closed the space between them impatiently. He gripped Mohinder's face harder, eyes closing as he kissed him back. He shivered as Mohinder teased his tongue between his lips. He grabbed Sylar's shirt over his stomach and pulled him close. 

 

Sylar slid one hand to the back of Mohinder's neck, toying with his hair and following him as he stepped backwards. Mohinder fell to sit on the workbench and Sylar straddled him, bracing his hands on the table and leaning over Mohinder. 

 

“How do you want this?” Mohinder mumbled against his lips as he tore at Sylar's shirt. Sylar drew back to let him take it off. He threw it out of the way and ran his hands down Sylar's chest, eyes hungry. 

 

Sylar gripped the table hard as Mohinder tweaked a nipple. “Come on,” he said, a cocky smile on his face. “I know you've thought about it.” He pulled Sylar down and whispered in his ear, “How do you want me?”

 

Sylar breathed a heavy sigh as Mohinder's hands continued to explore his skin, his mouth sucking kisses along his jaw. He rolled Sylar's head back between his hands. Sylar couldn't stop him from maneuvering him and it was exactly what he wanted. 

 

“Overpower me.”

 

“What?” Mohinder asked as he sucked a dark bruise on the tender skin of Sylar's neck and licked it as it healed. 

 

“Want to feel your power.” Mohinder's hands wound around his back and he arched against them, holding his shoulders for balance. “Hold me down.”

 

Mohinder pulled back, a careful look on his face. “Is this some sort of … you want me to _ force _ you?”

 

“No, no no no,” Sylar rushed, holding his face. “I want you so bad. All of you. Your lips, your cock, your strength. I want to feel  _ all _ of you.” He kissed the corner of Mohinder's mouth and ground down against his erection. “Please. Please fuck me, Mohinder.”

 

Mohinder's eyes lost focus and he tilted his hips forward against Sylar, biting his lip as he felt how hard he was. “Yeah.” He wrapped his hands around Sylar's thighs, grip bruisingly tight and he watched Sylar writhe on top of him. He spread his legs further and kissed the cry from Sylar's lips. 

 

As Sylar scrabbled for control, Mohinder lifted him from his lap and stood smoothly. Sylar knew he wasn't light but Mohinder had no problem turning them around and slamming him back down on the worktable. His breath heaved from his lungs and he arched his back for more as he struggled for air. 

 

“Good?” Mohinder asked, holding his wrists against the polished wood. 

 

“God yes.” Sylar wrapped his legs around Mohinder's waist as long fingers moved to work his jeans open. Sylar grabbed Mohinder's shirt, consciously not ripping at the buttons as he pushed it open from the bottom. “Oh fuck, Mohinder.” He stroked the soft skin of his stomach, pushing his slacks down to follow the delicate dark hair trailing from his navel. 

 

Mohinder stepped back and yanked Sylar's jeans down past his knees, tangling over his boots. His cock sprung from his boxers as Mohinder pulled them down as well. Sylar moaned under Mohinder's eyes and hands as he stroked them up his thighs. Sylar reached for him again and in a blink’s time, Mohinder had his hands pinned to the table again. 

 

Sylar tilted his head back, the sight of Mohinder open shirted and aggressive overwhelming him. He felt his cock twitch as Mohinder kissed his thigh, high up near where he wanted him most. 

 

With a moment’s concentration, Sylar had the lube and small strip of condoms back from the drawer he had stashed them ages ago with high hopes and no real expectations. They settled by where Mohinder's hand clamped his own.

 

“Please,” Sylar found he was not above begging. “Please, I want you.”

 

Mohinder pushed him up along the slick wood and nuzzled his stomach. He made sure to catch his eyes before wrapping his lips around the head of Sylar's cock and swirling his tongue. 

 

“Oh god, Mohinder!” He struggled to not thrust into the wet heat, too far gone to last long. “Stop, stop, I'm gonna come.”

 

Mohinder pulled off with a grin. “God, you're easy.”

 

Sylar tried to throw him a look saying ‘well what do you expect?’ but he was afraid it came across as more ‘fuck yes I am.’

 

“Are you always this wound up? Or is it just for me?” Mohinder asked, voice thin as he traced delicate patterns on Sylar's belly and hips. 

 

“You. It's just you.” Sylar couldn't hold back the honest answer and he saw the shiver run down Mohinder's back at the words. 

 

Mohinder hooked his hands behind Sylar's knees and pulled him down, knees bracketing his hips, jeans caught against his thighs, and Mohinder pulled him up by the hair to kiss him hard. Sylar wiggled back out of his grip and mumbled into his lips, “Don't pull my hair.”

 

“Sorry.” Mohinder kissed over the curve of his cheekbone, soothing his hands over Sylar's scalp. Sylar grabbed the waistband of his slacks, one hand thumbing the button open and the other sliding in before he could work the zipper. He moaned as he scratched gently through thick pubes, fingers just reaching the base of Mohinder's dick before his wrists were grabbed again and pulled up over his head. 

 

Mohinder bit his name off Sylar's lips and threw him back on the table, roughly turning him over. Sylar muttered his name like a prayer, moaning as Mohinder raised his hips and thrust his own clothed hips against needy naked flesh. Sylar wiggled until he felt Mohinder's hard cock slide between his cheeks, resting his head on folded arms and trying to smother the desperate sounds falling from his mouth.

 

“Do you want this?” Mohinder asked from behind him, slowly sliding his pants down. “Do you want me?”

 

Sylar nodded and threw himself backwards. Mohinder caught him around his ribcage and held him still, gently teasing his cock over Sylar's ass, still encased in his underwear. Sylar pushed with his arms and struggled against the hold but he couldn't budge. It was fucking wonderful. 

 

“Sylar,” Mohinder snapped. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

 

“Yes!”

 

“Are you paying attention to me?”

 

Not really. “Little distracted, honestly.” He could wiggle his hips so he did, reveling in the gasp that fell from Mohinder's lips, proving he wasn't the only one falling apart. 

 

Mohinder pushed him flat to the table. “Sylar. Do you want me?” he asked again. 

 

Sylar looked over his shoulder at him. “I thought I've been clear how I feel about you this whole time we've known each other.” Mohinder's face softened and he ran his thumbs in soft strokes along his hips. “I want you so bad, Mohinder. I've wanted you since we met.”

 

Mohinder shut his eyes a moment and bent to kiss down Sylar's spine. “Never hurts to make sure,” he whispered, pulling Sylar's hips back up and kissing over the curve of his ass. He ran a single finger down Sylar's crack and Sylar cried out, elbows slipping on the table. He knocked the bottle of lube over and it rolled away until he caught it telekinetically. Mohinder took it and Sylar buried his face in his arms as he heard it crack open. 

 

He clawed at the table as Mohinder's fingers were back, slicked and precise, circling his hole before pushing one in. Gently, gently, his finger feeling so long as he inched it in. Sylar bit his arm as he worked up to a second one, breaking skin before he just let go and moaned out loud. 

 

His noises spurred Mohinder on, twisting his two fingers deep to the knuckle. He kissed Sylar's lower back as he worked him open.

 

Sylar rolled his hips and Mohinder pulled back and caught him, holding him steady as he pumped his hand. He pulled out and Sylar whined until his fingers were back with more lube. He slid in easy and added another finger. While Sylar was adjusting, he curled his fingertips until he found his prostate. 

 

Sylar stretched his arms out and  _ whined _ as he spread his knees. Mohinder bit his ass gently and wrapped his free hand around his cock, heavy and leaking, and slid his pinkie in beside his longer fingers. 

 

Sylar felt so full. So full, so good, and already so fucked out. He was close. “Mohinder. Mohinder, now, wanna come with you in me.”

 

Mohinder couldn't formulate an answer but he did pull his fingers out and grab for the condoms by Sylar's hip. He ripped one out, lubed fingers slipping, and he had to take a calming breath before he tugged his underwear down and rolled the condom down his length. 

 

He wouldn't last long either. 

 

He tugged Sylar against him and watched the fingerprints fade from his skin. Sylar begged and Mohinder complied, sliding in slowly. He held Sylar's shoulders flat against the table when he started to push back, keeping his agonizingly slow pace. 

 

Sylar let out an unintelligible cry and Mohinder slammed the rest of the way in. Sylar bucked up against Mohinder as his arms buckled. Mohinder kissed the back of his neck and rolled his hips. He spread Sylar's legs wide and fucked him deep, wet hand pumping his cock in time. 

 

Sylar moaned into his arms, trying to hold back and last, but every time Mohinder grabbed him just too tight, slammed into him just too hard, bruised him with careless fingers or nipping teeth, he knew he would come soon, and come hard. 

 

Mohinder's name was fucked out of his mouth with a particularly hard thrust right against his prostate and his cock jumped in Mohinder's hand, the only warning he could give before coming undone. Mohinder moaned against his skin, smearing thick ejaculate over his sensitive dick, his own caught inside Sylar's insides quivering with aftershocks. It was tight, too tight, too much, and Sylar felt Mohinder's cock jump with its own release in him. 

 

He hummed as Mohinder collapsed on top of him, heaving lungs and grasping hands, hot breath tickling through his hair. He slowly slid out. 

 

Sylar turned to watch him roll over on the table and peel the condom off. As he tied it in a knot, Sylar slid to his knees on the workbench and laved his tongue through the come still smeared on his cock. He wrinkled his nose at the chemical smell of latex and the clinical nothing taste of lube but cleaned Mohinder with aplomb, circling the crown and pulling back his foreskin to get every drop. He stroked out a final thick bead of come and caught it on the tip of his tongue as Mohinder watched with far away eyes.

 

Mohinder was careful not to pull his hair as he wound his hands in it. He pushed up into his mouth, a breathless laugh on his lips as the overstimulation tickled. “Sylar, Sylar, enough.” He was breathless. He coaxed him up, still careful not to tug, until Sylar laid down on his side next to him, fingers grazing his smooth chest as he tried to catch his breath. “Come here,” he said, hand curling around Sylar's head to pull him down to a kiss. 

 

Sylar was taken back, eyes slow to flutter shut as he leaned into his lips. His hand came to rest over Mohinder's rapidly beating heart. Mohinder broke their kiss, head banging back on the table, but he continued to touch Sylar's face. Fingers grazed his cheeks, slid over his lips and down his stubbled chin.

 

“God, you're gorgeous,” Sylar said as he looked down at Mohinder, open shirt, cock out, slacks wrinkled around his hips. Mohinder just smiled, the look of a man who had heard that from post-orgasmic lips before. 

 

Sylar closed his eyes as Mohinder's thumb swiped over his nose and up a smooth line following his brow. “What now?” Sylar asked, whispering in something akin to fear. 

 

“Now, I think we should continue to find out where Renautas is focusing on conducting research and storing information. Take out their necessary satellite stations before going after the head.”

 

“Uh. Yeah.” He blinked, not prepared for shop talk while his mouth still tasted like dick and his hips had healing bruises shaped like Mohinder's hands. 

 

Mohinder apparently didn't have that problem, asking Sylar to airdrop his laptop to where they lay in varying states of well-fucked undress. He did, and watched as Mohinder opened it on his stomach.

 

He stared as Mohinder started typing a search, turning away after a long moment.  He stood to pull his pants up. He was sad to see his skin no longer held signs of Mohinder's touch. He felt wet and sticky, though, and while it was kinda grossing him out, it was the only tangible thing he had to remember their intimacy. 

 

Mohinder touched his hand and brought his attention back. He was watching him, propped up on an arm. “Did you mean with us, what now?”

 

“Um.”

 

Mohinder smiled. “I certainly wouldn't be adverse to doing that again.”

 

Unbridled ecstasy crept through Sylar's limbs. “May I kiss you?” he breathed. 

 

“You don't need to ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops. Meant to write a Mature rating. Changed to accommodate porn.


	8. Chapter 8

Sylar heard Mohinder wake up, sad to have left him in an empty bed. He sat and stretched, long lines of brown skin pulling Sylar's attention from his coffee. He yawned and looked around as he pulled back the sheets. Sylar looked away, leaning back on the sink and trying to look composed. He was far from composed. 

 

“Good morning,” Mohinder mumbled, padding across the floor on bare feet. Sylar looked up from his coffee and blinked, eyes wide on Mohinder's nude form. He looked obscene next to the workbench he had spent so many years bent over, quiet and alone. 

 

He couldn't get his mouth to work so he tipped his mug against his lips, feeling the burn of coffee against his lip. Mohinder touched his arm and brought it down from his face. 

 

“I got breakfast,” he said lamely. Mohinder smiled at the open box of donuts at his hip. 

 

“That's not breakfast, that's dessert.”

 

“Coffee?” Sylar offered.

 

Mohinder took the mug from his stiff fingers and set it down. “I'd rather have it second hand,” he muttered, standing on his toes and leaning into Sylar's surprised lips. 

 

He kissed like he was searching for something, tongue chasing the bitter coffee flavoring Sylar's mouth, hands holding him tight at the hips. Sylar sighed, carefully winding his fingers in Mohinder's curls. He hadn't wanted to assume permission, but the eager way Mohinder moaned into his mouth sure made him feel like he had made an ass of himself. 

 

Mohinder's fingers skittered over his chest, grabbing at the tee shirt he had thrown on to walk down the street for donuts. They landed on his waistband and Sylar couldn't help jumping when he unbuttoned his jeans. He looked up questioningly and found no resistance in Sylar's face. Between kisses, he said, “I haven't done this in years. Don't laugh at me.”

 

He fell to his knees in a graceful fold and laughing was the last thing on Sylar's mind. Mohinder looked up at him, big doe eyes and sure hands, and pulled his jeans down. 

 

Sylar figured it was shock holding him still. Still as Mohinder licked up the side of his cock as he pulled it from his underwear. Shock holding him as he wrapped his lips around the crown. Mohinder moaned and the sound kicked Sylar into action. He carefully ran his hands through Mohinder's hair and felt him smile around him. 

 

Mohinder tucked his fingers in Sylar's back pockets and held him tight as he worked him with his mouth. Sylar couldn't look away. He felt his cock jerk on one of Mohinder's downswings and they both groaned. Mohinder's hand wrapped around his own cock and Sylar watched, memorizing how he twisted his fist near his body, traced his fingers in the lip of his foreskin. 

 

The pleasure he found in his touch turned Sylar on more than he could have thought. He gave Mohinder's hair a gentle warning tug and fell back on the sink as Mohinder came, stark against his skin. His orgasm was right behind; Mohinder's eyes widened in shock and he pulled back, a thick rope of come streaking his cheek.

 

Sylar held Mohinder's face as he remembered how to breathe, stroking over his high cheekbone with his thumb. Mohinder swiped at the mess on his cheek and licked it from his thumb. 

 

He tucked Sylar back in his pants and recovered first, starting to stand, but was eagerly tugged up. Sylar looked between his eyes with wonder and pulled him into a deep kiss. He tasted himself and almost bit Mohinder's lip at the fire it started in him. Mohinder held him from behind, rubbing his thumbs up his hips and grabbing his ass. 

 

“Good morning,” he mumbled against Sylar's cheek. He smelled like sex and sleep and Sylar was so glad to already be leaning on something. 

 

“Good morning. What was that for?” 

 

“Mmm, I've never known a man to complain about being blown before,” Mohinder said, reaching into the pink box on the sink. He bit into a cruller, eyebrow perked in question. 

 

“Not complaining,” Sylar said, hands trailing up Mohinder's sides, eyes caught on the ejaculate on his skin. 

 

Mohinder hooked his elbow around his neck and pulled him down to his lips. The sugary donut took over the taste of his mouth and Sylar licked at the icing on his lips. “This is what you want,” Mohinder whispered, “Isn't it?”

 

And so much more. Sylar wanted everything, he wanted the man in his arms in his bed, his life, his heart. But if he could only get his hands on his body: “Yes. God yes.” Mohinder smiled and kissed him. “But you?” God, he just couldn't stop picking it apart. 

 

“Hmm. Maybe there's something I want from you, too.”

 

“What?” It was punched from his gut.

 

“I'm figuring that out.” He kissed down Sylar's neck, fingernails dragging over his stubble as he dropped his head back. He stepped back, a wet dream come to life. 

 

Sylar picked up his coffee and tried to settle the shaking in his hands. “Well, if you have to suck me off to figure it out, I guess I'll just have to let you.” He felt his face flush at the words. 

 

Mohinder laughed, bright as crystal, and turned toward the tiny bathroom. Sylar caught his eyes and tried again to find any oxygen left in the room. 


	9. Chapter 9

So they fucked. That became a thing they did. When they could, sometimes when they shouldn't. 

 

Like the time they had snuck in a facility across town to sabotage files and Sylar sank to his knees as soon as Mohinder shut the server room door. He had held off five agents with telekinetic force as he held Mohinder's hips between his hands, cock buried in his throat until Mohinder came with a holler. 

 

He couldn't talk for five minutes, throat burning, breath gone, so turned on his dick hurt but waited for the job to be done until he lay the passenger seat of their rented car back and Mohinder stroked him off in a dark alleyway. 

 

Sylar loved to give, he loved watching Mohinder fall apart in his hands, his mouth, his ass. He offered everything, prostrated himself and arched into the bites and scratches spread along his pale shoulders, climbed atop Mohinder's hips and rode in sensuous circles like an erotic dance. 

 

One time, he had Mohinder backed against a wall, his legs spread so far apart Sylar's invisible hold was the only thing keeping him up, moaning and pliant. Sylar was buried to the hilt, his face in Mohinder's neck, sucking dark bruises on his perfect skin. They were both lost in the helpless whines punched from Mohinder's gut with each push of Sylar's cock. Mohinder could find nowhere to put his hands so he dug them in Sylar's hair, whispering encouragements and calling him pretty names. He came between them, a rush of white hot heat. 

 

Sylar could remember that moment, could recall the tang of sweat behind Mohinder's ear, the smell of his release, the tight heat around his cock, the skipping heartbeat against his own. He would remember and he would  _ yearn _ , but he ached so much for Mohinder he couldn't help but offer himself; he had to see the pleasure he wrought from the man. 

 

They fucked in the back room of the repair shop - sometimes against the wall or the floor, bent over the desk, spread over the workbench. If they ended up on the bed, it became a struggle to call it ‘fucking’. The bed invited soft touches and longing glances, the slow slide of bodies entwined, mouths locked. Mohinder would go days, weeks without touching Sylar in the bed, but he would always cave and throw him down, open him wide and take him apart. 

 

In the bed, Mohinder held Sylar's heart in his teeth. 

 

Face down in the pillow, half his body on top of Mohinder's warm skin, Sylar woke up and put his heart back in place every morning. In the mornings, he mourned the loss of intimacy, burnt bright while they were entangled but snuffed out when Mohinder woke up and pulled away. 

 

So they fucked. It was good. It was very good. But Sylar didn't know how much of his heart he had left to patch back up. 

 

He had set the alarm the night before a big job - they were taking the train out of town to do a smash and grab of technology set aside for the teleportation device. They had to get it out of the bad guy's hands. And in all honesty, Sylar knew Mohinder was dying to get it in his. Something new and shiny and destructive. 

 

They weren't catching an early train, but they didn't plan to wait for a late one, either. Sylar had insisted on the alarm, knowing Mohinder would sleep until the afternoon if left unchecked. 

 

So imagine his surprise when he was awoken before the alarm, shocked from sleep as teeth worked their way up the back of his thigh. 

 

Mohinder moaned as Sylar stirred, long legs curling around him and in the sheets. Sylar grunted his name into the pillow, fingers curling as he felt a dirty smile cross Mohinder's face. “Want you,” Mohinder said with a rough voice. 

 

“Yes.” He gasped as Mohinder pulled him roughly down the mattress, ass to groin so ready to go. He ground back against him anyway, loving the feeling of his hard cock against his body. “Mohinder, please.”

 

Mohinder took his time preparing him, opened him wide with four fingers as he held his shoulders down against the bed. Sylar wriggled but no matter his struggle, he could never break Mohinder's hold. He didn't know being overpowered would be such a turn on, but damn. One show of strength and Sylar was eager to roll over. Feeling Mohinder's strong body everywhere against his? He was done. A needy, leaking mess, he'd do anything to get that power turned on him forever. 

 

His shoulders were released but he couldn't move as Mohinder tilted his hips even further up. The tiny spark of shame at being so eager, at finding his worth under Mohinder's hungry eyes, was snuffed out when Mohinder spread the fingers in him and teased around his hole with his others. 

 

He wanted to tell Mohinder to fuck him, to touch him,  _ wreck _ him, but he couldn't get his throat to work. He was lost with Mohinder's fingers prying him apart. 

 

One by one, the fingers left and he felt empty and alone, gasping into the sheets. He could feel Mohinder's eyes on him still and fought to stay on display. 

 

He was rewarded when Mohinder's thick cock pushed up along the mess of lube from taint to tail. The noise ripped from Sylar's throat had no word, no name - just need. He felt his own cock swing hard with Mohinder's thrusts. 

 

Mohinder caught on an upthrust - not on purpose if his surprised gasp was heard right. He entered Sylar slowing, teasingly, as he wrapped his hands around his neck and pulled him up. Sylar knelt, shoulders braced on Mohinder's, back arched so his ass stuck out, all the better to be pounded. 

 

Mohinder's breath was hot against his face as he thrust, tiny shallow movements right against Sylar's prostate. Sylar wrapped his hands around Mohinder's on his hips, fighting to stay upright. “So good,” Mohinder breathed against his ear. He moved one hand over Sylar's hip to play fingers over his cock. “Gabriel,” he whispered and that's the moment Sylar knew he couldn't mend the raw feeling in his heart. 

 

He fell forward with a gasp, throwing himself backward onto Mohinder, feeling fingers squeezing his hips in warning. Mohinder's hand was rough on his cock. 

 

Mohinder fucked him as he came. He kissed the back of Sylar's neck as he trembled, going boneless in the sheets. His own orgasm followed, a cry tearing from his throat. 

 

Sylar grabbed behind him at Mohinder's hips as he continued to thrust, shallow as he went soft. He collapsed on Sylar's back, a small breathless laugh released against his skin. 

 

Sylar's knees gave out and he collapsed, pushing at Mohinder to roll over under him. Mohinder propped up on an elbow and stroked Sylar's cheek. “Such a good boy.”

 

The shiver that ran down Sylar's spine to his toes was completely unbidden. Mohinder's words left him breathless, the tiny kisses he planted on the corners of his mouth leaving him wanting. “So good,” Mohinder said against his lips. 

 

Sylar arched up into him, “God, again. But not like I'm your damn dog this time.’

 

Mohinder laughed again, light and airy. He didn't say anything else, just pulled Sylar close and kissed him, hand touching him everywhere. Breaking him apart. 


	10. Chapter 10

The factory they had set to hit was a mess. They got in with no problem - Mohinder had found the layout online and Sylar easily took out the cameras, put a security guard on ice at his gate post temporarily. 

 

Inside, it looked ransacked. There were files and tools scattered on the small staircase they crept up. “What happened?” Mohinder muttered as they snuck around a corner to the main floor. Sylar shook his head, wondering the same thing. 

 

“Maybe they knew we were coming.”

 

Sylar heard a gun cock before it fired and he pushed Mohinder back around the corner. The bullet went straight through his arm and into the drywall. Blood sprayed around the bullet hole. He grimaced and heard Mohinder call his name but he was already healing. 

 

“They  _ definitely _ knew we were coming,” Sylar grit through his teeth. God, he hated bullet wounds. The shooter had paused, maybe to see the effect of his shot, enough time for feeling to come crawling back down Sylar's fingers. He made a fist before reaching out lightning fast. He felt when he made telekinetic contact with their assailant and flung him backwards and flailing against the far wall, pistol slipping from his hand. Crackles of electricity sparked in a threat along Sylar's arm. 

 

Mohinder brushed his shoulder, avoiding the shredded fabric. He said his name again, wary with warning.

 

Sylar cracked a wry smile at him. “I'm good, remember?” His voice didn't crack but it was a near thing. 

 

“I know. I  _ know, _ ” Mohinder repeated, lightly and for his own benefit. To the man pressed against the wall, he asked, “Who else is here?”

 

“There's - there's a guard!” He flinched as Sylar stalked closer, boots silent on the polished floor. He may or may not have been using the barest bit of flight power, the airiness to his step. 

 

“Outside?” Mohinder asked, shuffling over the abandoned papers on the nearest desk. He didn't take any. 

 

The man nodded and Sylar let the smile hiding behind his lips out, crooked and predatory. “Great. Why don't we get to know each other, hmm?” He rested his hand on the wall over the man's shoulder and felt his fear vibrate the air between them. Sylar hoped that was all that would come between them; it was sadly not unheard of that he could scare the piss out of people. 

 

Not something he cared to repeat, thanks. 

 

The man's lip quivered and Sylar pressed closer. “What do you want?” he asked. Ten points to Gryffindor for stupidity masquerading as bravery. 

 

“Oh, the usual,” Sylar smiled, teeth bared. “To save the world, put a stop to evil's wicked ways.” He heard Mohinder behind him snickering as he kicked through trashed papers. He watched the man's lip tremble once more and he rolled his eyes, shoulders falling slack against the arm propping him up. No use toying with him. “What you're making here. We want it.”

 

“We're not - there's nothing here.”

 

Sylar made a show of looking around. Mohinder glanced up from an upended filing cabinet and Sylar winked before turning back to the man trying to press his way back into the wall. “That's a lie. You've made a  _ mess _ here. But what we want is what you've been making here for months.” His lips were sealed, even as Sylar leaned even closer, using every ounce of his personality, every inch of his height, the crack of every knuckle resting by the man's head to make the threat clear. “We want the device. Now.”

 

“Sylar. Be nice.” Mohinder traced his fingers across his hips as he walked past. 

 

The man whispered his name, slowly drawing Sylar's attention back. He hummed. “So you've heard of me. That makes this easier, then. You know I'm not fucking around,” he tilted the man's name badge up with his mind, “Barry Greene. Custodian. Looks like you have your work cut out for you,” he said, eyebrow raised as Mohinder loudly dumped trash cans on the already littered floor.

 

Barry Greene, custodian, lowered his eyes in a glare. The intended intimidation was lost when his voice shook. “There's nothing you want here.”

 

“Then where'd you take it?” Sylar asked as the truth rang in his head. 

 

Barry shook his head. “They send me to do one job. Always just one job.”

 

Sylar was losing his patience. “Right now your one job is to tell me where the research for the teleportation device is. Before I start breaking parts of you until you spill.”

 

“Sylar.”

 

He didn't turn from Barry, shivering in front of him. Not when Mohinder called his name a second time, not when Barry's eyes darted over his shoulder and back. He heard Mohinder step lightly across the room and watched Barry crumble. Easy as pie. 

 

“Gabriel!”

 

It was a toss up if the name Mohinder yelled at him got his attention first, or the fright hiding in the vowels. Either way, Sylar turned, too slow to dodge Barry Greene, custodian and world hard head champ, as he cracked his skull into Sylar's jaw.

 

Sylar stumbled back, gripping his jaw and chewing air uselessly until he snapped it back into place. “Son of a  _ bitch _ !” He saw Barry take a nosedive, knowing he was going back after his gun, but he turned to Mohinder, backing from the factory floor with hands raised. He didn't pay attention as he flung a barrage of power at Barry, figuring he could worry about the state of his frozen or melted or electrocuted body after he had Mohinder back in his protection. 

 

He couldn't focus on anything except Mohinder’s tense back, his tight shoulders and large backwards steps. He wrapped his hands around his waist and finally followed his gaze to the half dozen armed, uniformed Company men encroaching with weapons drawn. They must have been waiting in the back. 

 

More agents followed, an even dozen. A large man cleared his throat from the balcony, assault rifle aimed between them, waiting to pick off the most dangerous target first. He made a baker's thirteen, not odds Sylar would bet against. 

 

At least not until they had a moment to prepare.

 

He held up his hands, backing off across the floor, same as Mohinder. “Okay. Okay, you get this round. We'll just be going.”

 

“I don't think so,” an Agent Smith wannabe said from the front line. He raised his gun point blank at Sylar's head. Mohinder shoved him back with his shoulder and numerous weapons were moved to keep him in their sights instead. 

 

Sylar saw red. 

 

He grabbed Mohinder and shoved him back toward the stairs as fingers tightened on triggers all around them. He rose his first and felt his anger literally vibrate the floor, watching as the cement cracked under the agents’ feet and raw earth spilled up around their ankles and shins. One screamed. One fell, gun firing wide over Sylar's head as he struggled against the roiling dirt. 

 

Two more cell and the building shook again, dislodging the catwalk from the wall and throwing the man with the assault rifle to the ground. 

 

“What are you doing?!” Mohinder near screeched. 

 

“I don't  _ know! _ ” He counted limbs tearing at the dirt, faces yelling and sputtering as they choked on earth, and was pretty sure the agents were all alive. The building fell still as earth and rocks and dirt stopped pouring up into the room. His thoughts flew to the carnival he had left months ago Sullivan and his power over the earth and how he had never taken it. He hadn't  _ taken _ it, how the _ fuck _ . 

 

“Go, we have to go,” Mohinder grabbed at his shirt. Sylar doesn't look away from the men righting themselves on the cracked factory floor. Ten, eleven, twelve bodies up and moving, weakly grabbing for guns and each other as tiny aftershocks rocked underfoot. Twelve! Damn it, no - he sighed in bounds deep relief as he saw number thirteen, an arm scraping up from the dirt, thirteen people alive. Thank god. 

 

“Go,” he repeated after Mohinder, jumping down the stairs two at a time. He was on the landing first, fists clenched to hold back the destructive power singing in his veins. 

 

He turned as soon as a yelp left Mohinder's mouth but was too far away to catch him as he tripped backwards down the steps. He stopped his fall with the brick wall force of telekinesis and Mohinder pinwheeled, foot catching on a stair at a hideous angle. He yelled and Sylar dropped his power in surprise. 

 

Mohinder hit the ground and was laughing when Sylar fell to his knees beside him. “Are you alright?” he asked, guilt heavy on his tongue as he ran his hands helplessly over Mohinder's body. Mohinder just continued in growing hysterics, eyes watering as he lay on the ground shaking with laughter. The agents were almost on them, they had to move. 

 

“Come on, get up.” Mohinder slowly stood and stretched his back. A bullet whizzed by his head, finally knocking his humor back. He took a couple steps, winced and swore and stopped, bending over the ankle that twisted. 

 

“Ow,” he understated. 

 

“Shit.” Sylar moved to his bad side and slipped under his arm, helping him limp to the door as he raised his free hand behind them and froze the agents’ feet to the ground. He deflected bullets as they ducked out into the afternoon, sun bright on their faces. 

 

Mohinder was holding him with both hands, jumping with his one good foot and letting Sylar take the brunt of his weight. They moved as fast as they could from the building, Sylar's powers holding fast even as the agents’ raised voices faded to a thin din. 

 

He slowed them down when they hit the sidewalk, moving like two dunks in a desperate potato sack race. Mohinder's hands tore at his shirt as he hopped, tiny step bad foot, big leap good foot. Sylar felt him start to laugh again, chest rumbling under his steadying hand. He glanced at him and saw it wasn't humor making him laugh, but something more like hysteria. 

 

“Mohinder. Mohinder,” he said, trying to keep calm as panic rose bitter at the back of his throat. “Honey, stop.” Mohinder took another large good foot leap, pulling Sylar as he stopped. He spun in his arms, crying out in pain as Sylar grabbed his shoulder and pulled him tight against his chest. “Hey. We need to get you help,” he said quietly, brushing away the tears caught glittering in Mohinder's thick eyelashes. 

 

“No,” Mohinder hiccupped through breathless laughs. “Just - home.”

 

He winced as he shifted his weight and Sylar put a gentle hand under his thigh and raised his foot from the ground, his knee tucking behind Sylar's thigh in a full body embrace. He curled his hand in his shirt, face tucked against his chest. His voice was almost even and calm as he breathed, “Take me home, Sylar.”

 

Sylar held his breath and kissed Mohinder's temple, fingers brushing through his hair. “Yes.”


	11. Chapter 11

Mohinder grew more and more indignant as he had to rely on Sylar more as they walked. He fought Sylar when he moved to pick him up and tried to pull him away from the lingering ghost of a payphone in the corner of the first gas station lot they came across. 

 

“Damnit, Mohinder, I can't keep this up! We're calling a cab.”

 

“Do you really think that's smart right now? We can't afford the risk-”

 

Sylar shut his eyes and breathed deep. “Mohinder. I love - arguing with you.” He grit his teeth, trying to lock his irritation back before he ran his mouth any further, “But shut up.” He called for a car as Mohinder leaned against the booth with arms crossed and a sour face. 

 

The cab ride back to the city was tense, every bump and turn making Mohinder wince in pain. He pushed Sylar away when he moved to cradle his ankle. 

 

His mood lasted as they did the awkward hop down the block to the shop. Sylar unlocked the door telekinetically and worked Mohinder to the bathroom. 

 

Mohinder slapped his hands away when Sylar knelt to undo his belt. He sat back on his heels and watched Mohinder slide his slacks down himself - it would have been titillating if not for the anger and pain playing across his lips. 

 

Sylar grimaced, hating that Mohinder was hurt. He slid his hand down his hip and thigh and took over the task of undressing him. He helped Mohinder hop up onto the sink and gently worked his pants off.

 

Mohinder shivered and Sylar grinned. “Little cold?” He moved one hand from his bad ankle to slide his fingertips under the elastic of his briefs.

 

Mohinder shut his eyes and looked away, another shiver stealing down his legs. Sylar smiled and turned his attention back to Mohinder's injury. “Well, I don't think it's broken,” he said as he gently rolled his foot. “It's pretty swollen but I think you just sprained it.” He summoned the first aid kid from the packed cabinet under the sink and got to work jerry rigging a brace. 

 

He looked up as Mohinder played fingers through his hair. “Thank you,” he said, still avoiding Sylar's eyes. 

 

“No thanks needed. Hey.” Mohinder wouldn't turn so Sylar kissed his thigh and nudged his face over with a gentle telekinetic push. Mohinder huffed and rolled his eyes but the corners of his lips were definitely tilting up. Sylar schooled his expression to follow. “I'm glad you're alright.”

 

“Yeah. Thanks to you.”

 

Sylar finished wrapping his ankle. He replayed the afternoon as he did. How the hell did he move the earth? “Was today a complete waste?” he asked instead. 

 

Mohinder signed. “We didn't get anything. I think it was.”

 

The bandages were properly placed but Sylar fussed with them anyway. His mind swirled thinking of powers he didn't have. The one he used - and the one he needed use of. “Do you know what would be really helpful?”

 

“What?” Mohinder asked with a hand on the side of Sylar's face. 

 

“If we could know who was in a building before we got there.”

 

Mohinder hummed confirmation and let the subject drop. 

  
  


***

  
  
  


Mohinder threw himself on the couch without bothering to unfold it. Sylar grabbed a box stashed on top of a row of books and sat at at the worktable. He watched Mohinder sulk a moment before digging in the box and aiming … shooting  … direct hit to the belly. Again. And again. 

 

“What are you doing?” he swatted at his stomach, annoyed. 

 

Sylar just smiled and took aim again. Mohinder caught what he had arced gently toward him, turning the wooden tile between his fingers. “Scrabble?”

 

Sylar nodded and mentally picked up the tiles from where they had rolled under the couch. They floated over as Mohinder sat up straight. He started to stand but Sylar had no problem pushing him back down as he wobbled up on one leg. “You stay there.” 

 

Mohinder looked like he was trying not to pout as Sylar set the game on top of the cardboard box they kicked around as their coffee table. Sylar fluffed both their pillows and waited as Mohinder begrudgingly allowed him to maneuver them under his leg. 

 

“Upsy daisy. Comfortable?”

 

“No. But it will do,” he assured, waving Sylar's helping hands away.

 

Sylar sat on the arm of the couch with his feet tucked under Mohinder's butt and let the board hover over their legs. As Mohinder doled out the pieces, he asked if he needed anything else. 

 

“No. Um. Water would be nice.”

 

With a grin, Sylar orchestrated the glassware and tap behind his head and caught two full glasses neatly. He handed one over. 

 

“Now you're just showing off,” Mohinder said into the glass. 

 

Sylar shrugged. “Maybe.” Like he'd never flaunted a power for attention before. 

 

He watched Mohinder try to hide a smile and couldn't resist leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth. 

 

They played quietly, Sylar keeping score in his head. It was pretty even for the first couple rounds, but Mohinder scooped up a double letter in a double score word and Sylar stopped playing for real, working too hard to instead play silly words. 

 

“If you play one more three letter word, I swear …” Mohinder shook his head and played  _ theirs  _ off Sylar's  _ the. _

 

Sylar hummed and played  _ sit  _ before piping up: “Do you know what I was thinking?”

 

“Enlighten me,” Mohinder groused as he looked over his letters. 

 

“We have an employee roster for Renautas.”

 

“Yeah,” he placed his tiles, distracted. They had found the employee directory in a filing cabinet Sylar had ‘accidentally’ unlocked on a heist the week prior.

 

“We could, say, give the list to Molly to scope out facilities. After you bring her back, that is.” 

 

He looked up to see Mohinder's flabbergasted face. “Are you insane?”

 

Sylar shrugged. “Debatable.” He nudged a couple stray tiles back to their proper spaces. “We need her. And she needs us. I know you remember what -”

 

“Don't,” Mohinder bit out. “Just … put this away. I can't do this with you.”

 

Sylar swept the letters back into the grab bag with his arm and turned to put the game away. He paused and said, without turning back, “Think about it.”

 

It was the first night they lay in bed back to back, not touching. 

 

Sylar didn't sleep. 


End file.
